


And The Consequences Thereof

by Fight_The_Heteronormatives



Series: A Different Path Chosen [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: A Different Path Chosen, Everyone Is Gay, Help, Multi, Sequel, Supernatural AU - Freeform, The Author Regrets Everything, the Leviathan Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-02-08 02:10:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12854499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fight_The_Heteronormatives/pseuds/Fight_The_Heteronormatives
Summary: Raphael is dead, but the party's far from over. The leviathans are loose on the world, and no-one else plans on stepping up and fixing the problem for them. Team Free Will and Co wind up in the middle of another, even worse, Apocalypse, but this time with more homoerotic tension and record amounts of bullshit.A sequel to 'A Different Path Chosen'. You've been warned.





	1. Begin Again

“Drive faster, Dean!” Sam screamed, the wind howling through his hair as he leaned out the window, shotgun perched under his arm. If they drove by another car, or a sign, Sam was screwed; but that was the least of his worries right now.

“I’m going as fast as I can!” Dean howled back, eyes fixed on the road ahead for once. One vacation; that was all they’d asked for! One quiet, _peaceful_ trip to the Natural History Museum.

They had just moved on past the fossils when something had grabbed Sam. No-one had been looking, and the taller Winchester had barely had a chance to make a sound. Dean only realized something was up when he’d been grabbed himself, not even getting an ‘ _mmph!’_ out before being pulled away.

Gabriel had been staring at pickled jars of snakes with boredom, while Cas studiously read every bronze plaque like he was studying for a final. Balthazar stood next to him, sneaking nervous glances, and Meg sat on the back of a taxidermized elephant, throwing pieces of popcorn at passers-by, before slipping into the adjacent exhibit to watch the security guards run about in confusion.

It was her, ironically, who’d noticed the sudden absence of the Winchester brothers, and warned the angels.

Sam and Dean had been nabbed by a trio of eager demons, who’d thought they’ll get into Crowley’s good books by bringing them to him. The ‘trio’ turned out to be about _sixteen_ , there for the purpose of mingling with lower-ranking politicians. Stumbling across the hunters had been an honest accident, but a pleasant one for them.

This lead to a skirmish in the African exhibit that ended in a car chase with the police. Because of course, all the blame was left on them when the demons bolted.

Meg sat on the roof of the car, popcorn still clutched close, raven hair swirling and twirling with the wind. They shot around a corner, but she remained in place with inhuman strength and grace. Balthazar was unconscious in the trunk after being thrown head-first through a window, and Cas was sitting calmly in the backseat, asking Bobby for directions to a place they could hide.

Gabriel had donned his janitor get-up, and had opted to stay behind and play the role of innocent bystander. He’d clean up any traces of sulfur, and meet them later. Not even _he_ could track the Winchesters anymore, so he’d be relying on Sam’s prayer to know where they were.

Sam had his shotgun, but didn’t want to shoot. A few of those officers might’ve been possessed, but mostly, they were still people. Plus, once he started firing, all bets were off.

“Left!” Cas called out, and Dean spun the wheel hard enough to threaten Meg’s balance. The tires squealed painfully, but abided. Sam was often amazed by the things Dean could make the old girl do.

“Watch it, short-stack!” She yelled through his window. When Sam looked up at her, he saw her flinging sharp, rusty nails she must’ve plucked from the exhibits being renovated. Each one found it’s mark in a cop car’s tire, and Sam yelled: “Careful!”

She gave him an eyeroll, showing off the whites of her eyes, but started to throw them with more consideration. She couldn’t risk being kicked out of the bucket brigade, now could she?

The _thrum-thrum-thrum_ of a helicopter’s propellers above them made Sam curse. Just _perfect._

Dean peered out of the cracked windshield, and groaned.

“Right!” Cas yelled over the sound of the wind, and Den obliged immediately. Sam banged his head hard on the roof, and swore up a storm. What was with their family, huh? Why did all this shit come _their_ way?

Four blocks onward, and Cas directed them into the underground parking of a large shopping mall.

“Bobby says to ditch the car,” Cas explained, “He has a friend here who can steal it back later. Get the weapons and anything suspicious out, and blend with the crowds.”

“What?!” Dean screamed. “No. Absolutely _not._ We are _not_ ditching Baby.”

“It’s Baby or us, Dean!” Sam yelled back as he scrambled out of the passenger seat. Meg slid off the roof, and Balthazar was hauled out of the boot by Cas. Dean cussed out every deity they’d ever even read about as he grabbed the suitcase of weaponry out of the trunk.

“I’m sorry, Baby!” Dean cried as they bolted for the mall entrance.

The mall was large, with two stories and an arching, cathedral-like roof. It had a skylight running through the center of the ceiling, probably to save on electricity. Dark, heavy clouds hung low in the sky, so that was for naught.  The sops lined on every side showed a varied range of products; a perfume store, a hairdresser, a Starbucks.

They hid in there for three hours. Meg spent her time in the candy store, and was joined by Gabe as soon as he showed up. Cas and Sam browsed the bookstore, while Dean put a pair of sunglasses on Balthazar and sat him outside the liquor store.

Dean also went as far as hiding the trunk in plain sight, bribing a suitcase-store employee to let him put it up on display. The most attention it got was a soccer-mom cooing, “Oh, vintage!” at it, as if it wasn’t covered in scratches and bloodstains. 

Dean himself browsed the cheap whiskey section of the aforementioned liquor store to keep an eye on Balthazar – and the front entrance. Sam pried ‘ _50 Shades of Grey’_ out of Cas’s hands before he could get a good look at it. He instead plucked _‘The Hobbit’_ off of another shelf, and put that in Cas’s hands. No adopted brother – or, if Dean _ever_ got his head out of his ass, brother _-in-law_ – of his would ever be corrupted by the likes of E.L. James.

Police swarmed the place as casually as possible, doing their best not to startle the masses of people. It was already about three PM, and three hours was all they could spare – soon, the place would be shutting down.

They decided to split up; Dean, Balthazar and Cas hotwired a red Jeep from the early two-thousands, and half-an-hour later, Sam, Meg, and Gabe stole a green Volkswagen.

After a full-day drive, they’d successfully regrouped at Bobby’s new place. It was a cabin out in the woods of Minnesota belonging to Rufus Turner, who was _not_ happy to suddenly have so much company. Bobby had more-or-less completely refurbished Rufus’s study, and had claimed the veggie-garden for Fatima, who seemed content to ignore anything going on around her in favor of Rufus’s turnips.

Gadreel carefully tucked Balthazar onto the couch, while Anna berated them from where she sat, fixing Rufus’s old radio to tune in on Angel-Talk. Cas thanked Bobby for his help, then crashed on the chair. It had been a tiring day.

Sam, Dean, and Gabe were left with the blow-up mattresses, and Meg contented herself with a bottle of rot-gut at the table. Rufus looked as if he didn’t know who to throw out first.

“I don’t know what’s worse!” He complained to Bobby, “The leviathans, the angels, or the freaking demon stealin’ my moonshine! Why are we friends, again?”

It took every ounce of reconciliatory skill Bobby possessed to keep them there. Sam was too tired to listen and take notes, though; as soon as the danger had passed, he collapsed onto a mattress that barely went to his knees, and slept.

…

The very next morning, Sam woke up to Imagine Dragons playing on the radio. That was actually quite welcome; he loved ‘ _On Top of the World’_. The smell of his own dried sweat and something burning outside was less pleasant, and when he listened hard enough, he could here vicious arguing.

With the kind of quiet grace that only a man well-trained in the art of ‘be-sneaky-or-die’ could have, he crept to his feet and tiptoed to the back door. Dean was out for the count on the other mattress, snoring happily. Gabriel was raiding Rufus’s fridge for something sweet.

Glancing out the window, he saw Fatima buried deep in Rufus’s potato-patch, and he frowned. Had she even come in last night? He made a note to check on her later; he knew what angelic possession could do to someone’s head. The fact that she wasn’t a drooling vegetable was a miracle.

While she’d still been unconscious, and hadn’t been able to feel pain, Anna had taken the liberty of making her presentable. She’d used her angel blade to file down her teeth and claws into something that didn’t get in her way. Although her teeth were still a little too sharp, she could now comfortably eat, wear shoes, and use her hands.  

Sam leaned in close to the door, minding the creaky floorboards, and heard Rufus arguing ferociously with Anna, Meg, and Gadreel. Balthazar, as far as Sam knew, was still in recovery in a bed upstairs.

“…And the hell do you know about it?” Rufus demanded, “I thought you said you knew only _the basics_ about the leviathans!”

“That may be so,” Gadreel said, “But we have still heard many tales of their ruthlessness. I do not think he should’ve gone alone.”

“Bobby knows what he is doing,” Rufus all but yelled, and from his tone of voice, it was clearly not the first time he’d said as much. “If he couldn’t handle it, he would’ve asked for our help! And you don’t even know if it _was_ a leviathan. Now scram, all o’ you!”

Rufus stomped off, muttering about ‘jackass demons’ and ‘know-it-all angels’.

Gadreel’s hands tightened into fists, and the muscles in his thick neck went taught. Anna sighed deeply, and Meg just went back to enjoying her take-out breakfast of cold McDonalds chips.

“What’s going on?” He asked, making his presence known. Both angels jumped, and Sam had to remind himself that although they were healing, they were mostly human right now. They truly hadn’t picked up on him being there. 

“Bobby went monster hunting,” Meg explained around a barely-edible looking French fry. “Alone. And these two are trying to implement a buddy-system.”

“What’s he hunting?” Sam asked, stepping out to join the circle of people.

“We don’t know,” Anna said, her brown skin looking more gold in the early morning light. Her hair looked like fire. “That’s why we’re upset. He got a call early this morning, from the sheriff in town; her surgeon apparently _ate_ her roommate at Sioux Falls General, and she needed help. He refused to take anyone else with him.”

Sam quickly weighed the pros and cons; but inevitably, his faith in Bobby won out.

“Bobby’s been hunting since I was in diapers. If he thinks he has it in hand, I believe him. And Sheriff Mills is a damn good hunter herself; I’m sure they’ll both be fine. But if he doesn’t call in the hour, let me know, and Dean and I’ll take a drive.”

That seemed like a good solution to his ears, and he could see the others agreed. Over what Rufus’s excuse for a lawn was, Sam spied Fatima yet again. She was dutifully bent over the stalks of potato plants, and Sam’s back ached in sympathy for what hers must be feeling like.

“Gimme a sec,” he said, and took a slow march to where she was kneeling. He only wore jeans and a vest, which is less than he normally wore, but at least he hadn’t kicked off his shoes the night before.

The sun had just peeked over the horizon, bathing the world in orange-golden light. The air remained frigid, and Sam’s breath was visible as he exhaled. The air burned in his lungs, and the smell of fresh soil and early morning mist woke him up almost as well as coffee did. The drab, grey sky was dotted with peachy clouds, through which rays of light peaked out. It was an idyllic scene.

He made sure his footsteps were loud enough that she caught them as he joined her. When he was ten-or-so feet away, she looked up. She was startled for a second, then seemed to recognize him. By the time he stood only a foot away, she was back to work.

“Need some help?” he asked as he sat next to her, not minding the dew that would stain his pants.

“Sure,” she said, and handed him a plastic bag half-full of weeds. Five identical packets, all full to the brim and tied closed, sat behind her.

“How’d you sleep last night?” He asked, pulling stalks out of the rich, dark earth as he did so. The sun was in his eyes, making him cringe, but that problem would fade soon enough.

She stilled for a moment, before returning to her work as if he hadn’t spoken. The morning light caught her metallic nails, making them gleam from under a layer of muck.

“That bad, huh?” He tried to joke, and immediately felt like kicking himself. She was just _possessed_ ; jokes were the last thing she needed.

“I…” she hesitated, seeming to try and find the words. “I tried. I just…kept getting nightmares. Being a vessel was like being burned alive. It was… terrifying.”

“I know,” he said, keeping his voice soft and gentle. Thanks to his time interviewing witnesses, he was good at speaking sympathetically. He had to use two hands to pluck out one stubborn weed, but it eventually relented and joined its kin in the bag.

“I was possessed by an angel before; only a few weeks ago, in fact.” She looked up at him sharply, hands stilling for the first time in days. He powered on.

“It feels like being tied to a rollercoaster going full-speed, on a fiery comet, that’s careening towards Earth at thousands of miles per hour. And when it’s over, you feel like mummified husk at best. But the feeling does fade, eventually.”

She sat down properly, stretching out her back as she did so. It popped and cracked, and Sam cringed.

“Who were you possessed by?” She asked, getting as comfy as she could on the wet grass.

“Lucifer,” He answered, eyes still fixed on the weeds. She was silent for almost a full minute as she studied him.

“You’re joking,” She accused, sharp teeth catching the light as her face spread into a snarl. “You think this is _funny?_ ”

“I only wish I was joking,” He replied, still busy with his set of weeds. “And no, I don’t find it funny at all.”

Something in his face must’ve convinced her, because a short time later, he had a pair of thin arms wrapped around him.

“I’m sorry.” She muttered into his shoulder. She smelled like dirt and sweat, which wasn’t exactly refreshing, but Sam knew he smelled worse. “I should know better than to think something like that is impossible.”

He returned the hug strongly. She was ridiculously small compared to his gigantic frame, and she fit easily into his chest. “It’s cool. It sucks, but it could’ve been worse.”

When she finally pulled back, there were tears in her eyes; and for her sake, Sam didn’t point them out.

“So,” he said, “Bobby gave you the full explanation, yeah?”

It was maybe a little late to ask, but he’d been busy.

“Yeah,” she said, “But, uh- I do have one or two questions I never really got around to asking. I didn’t think of them at first, and everyone was doing something else by the time I did…”

“Ask away,” he encouraged, returning to the weeds.

‘One or two’ questions turned out to be a _cascade_ of questions. She must’ve been bottling most of this up since she first blinked her eyes open after the possession.

“If…” She paused, and Sam got the feeling she didn’t like the question she was about to ask. “If she – I-Imogen – finds me again, and there are no banishing sigils or rings of holy fire around, what do I do?”

Sam knew the answer, of course, but he didn’t like it. He didn’t like that the only advice he could give involved her giving up her autonomy.

“If she comes for you, it will be for one of three reasons. It will either be to torture you for information about us, to kill you, or to reuse you as a vessel. For the first two, your only hope is to _pray_ there _are_ defenses you can use around; or you’re fu- screwed. For the last one, though, you have a few options…”

They moved slowly through the vegetables, making sure each plant was seen to. Sam had never had much of a green thumb; the closest he’d gotten to plant-rearing was a fifth-grade assignment to grow a bean stalk from a seed. He’d failed that project because Dean had been forced to exorcize it. It was a long story.

“When an angel takes a vessel, they need that vessel’s consent. The trick with that is, all angels _technically_ need is for you to say ‘yes’. They deal in absolutes; ‘yes’ means _yes,_ and ‘no’ means _no_. For all they’re supposed to be righteous, they are not above giving you liver cancer or an aneurism to get your consent. The truth is, if you say ‘no’, then they’ll just beat you and hurt you till ‘no’ becomes ‘yes’.”

She took her time digesting this. As she thought, she ran her tongue over her new teeth. It still felt strange, having them actually in place and not skew. The metal felt even stranger. “So, if Imogen comes for me, the safest thing to do is say ‘yes’? There’s really _no_ other options?”

Sam hesitated to answer. He didn’t want to give her false hope, but at the same time, she deserved his honesty. In fact, that was the least she deserved after what she’d been through.

“Well, you could try to fight the possession. It’ll be like walking barefoot on a burning tightrope while holding half a ton of squirming, screeching howler monkey babies, but it’s not impossible. It’s been done. You just have to focus on staying awake. If you’re awake, then when you get an opportunity, you can revoke your consent and cast them out. But if they put you to sleep, then that will never happen. If you are possessed, you start with _that,_ and work your way up.”

She looked relieved to hear him say that. Her shoulders slumped, and it seemed like ten years of stress and worry had faded off of her.

“Thanks,” She said, “That really helps.”

“No problem,” Sam replied, smiling. “Then again, you could always play up the vessel thing. Finding a vessel capable of holding an angel like Imogen is nearly impossible. That make you _valuable._ If any supernatural creature worth their claws comes across you, they’ll try to barter you off long before they try to kill you. It still kinda sucks, but it could buy you time.”

At that, she looked thoughtful, then nodded. “That could work too, I guess. Thanks again.”

He nodded, and they returned to lighter topics of conversation. 

He discovered that Fatima’s full name was Fatima Rahal Beaumont-Al Sham. Her mother was French, and her father, Syrian. She had five sisters – one older, four younger – and two Rottweilers. She was in AP Biology, and had dreams of becoming a botanist and adventuring to the amazon rainforest. She missed her home and feared for her family.

She let Sam talk, as well, and he found it incredibly therapeutic. Dean would’ve told him not to put so much stock in it, but Sam honestly believed that if you kept the bad stuff bottled up, it came back and bit you in the ass.

Dean called them in an hour later, telling them to ‘quit making flower crowns and come get some grub’. Sam couldn’t believe how much time had passed; it felt like only a few minutes! He could tell that as much as he felt better, so did Fatima; she smiled at him – a real, sincere smile, sweet despite the harsh metal – and took off running. Even though Dean would screech like a banshee if he caught Sam spilling feelings all over the place, Sam honestly felt a lot better too.  

When Sam wondered inside and let his eyes adjust to the dark, his good humor faded back into oblivion. Jody Mills, local sheriff and occasional hunter, was seated on the couch. She wore nothing but a medical robe, and Bobby’s jacket slung over her shoulders. She had a white-knuckled grip on an empty whiskey glass that Dean was already refilling for her.

“Are you okay?” Sam asked, concerned.

“I’ll live.” She responded, draining her glass and gesturing for another.

“What happened?” Cas asked. He sat next to Jody, applying gauze to a sharp cut on her cheek. He was stripped of his layers, and now only wore his white button-up with his black slacks. His hair was ruffled and feathery with sleep, and the bags under his eyes showed just how good a night he’d had.

“Leviathans,” Bobby answered, stepping out of the kitchen.

A quiet shock rolled through the room. Bobby was covered, head-to-toe, in the same black snot they’d all seen Raphael smear on Cas.

“A leviathan attacked you?” Gadreel asked, “And you survived?”

“Just about,” Bobby confirmed, leaning against the wall. “He wasn’t really expectin’ guests. And I had to drop a car on him to keep him down, but it bought us the time we needed to get away.”

Gadreel looked almost impressed, and Anna, his perpetual shadow, furrowed her brow.

“But, that still leaves us with the leviathan problem.” Rufus butted in to the conversation, “Bobby, you learn anything useful while playin’ chicken with ‘em?”

“Well,” Bobby said, letting Dean put a shot of whiskey in his hand, “The lore we’ve already got pretty much covers it. They’re like shape-shifters, just a lot more into eating folk. And pretty much nothin’ kills ‘em. Not holy water, not angel blades, or silver, or salt; I’m down to dismemberment and blunt force trauma.”

“Yay,” Dean deadpanned, drinking straight out of the bottle.

“All of this, we’ve already told you,” Anna said, “Though not even the archangels could keep them down long. _They have no weaknesses_.”

“So, what do you suggest we do?” Dean asked in the tone of voice that meant a fight. “Roll over and die?”

“Hardly,” Anna refuted, voice equally challenging. “Just that, of course, the usual stuff _won’t work_. If you want to stand a chance, you’ll have to use something no-one will have ever thought of before.”

“Well, we know one thing,” Bobby interrupted before the argument could escalate. “They bleed. And any good hunter can tell you that if it bleeds, you can kill it.”

No-one had much to say to that. No-one really wanted to play devil’s advocate when they were already so hopeless; and Bobby said it like it was the plainest truth in existence.

Eating was a silent affair. After only five minutes of this, Meg snapped.

“God,” she groaned, “This is _depressing_. There is _nothing_ to do around here. I’m almost tempted to go running right to Crowley if hiding with you guys is gonna be like _this._ ”

“Feel free to,” Sam replied, not even glancing up from his coffee and newspaper. “Honestly.”

They bitch-faced at each-other, forcing Bobby to cut between them.

“Since you so kindly volunteered, _you_ can accompany Sam and Dean to Arkansas. I’ve picked up a case there, courtesy of an old friend; and the cabin-fever in here is gonna kill me. Get lost.”

Sam gawked at being teamed up with the demon, and Dean seemed equally perturbed.

“I’ll go with,” Cas said, standing from his place by Jody.

“Great.” Dean groaned. Though in truth, he was actually happy Cas was coming. “Just what we need. An awkward family road-trip.”


	2. Haunted

The case was actually quite simple; a run-of-the-mill haunting. The only complication was that apparently, this ghost had been trying to work its mayhem for years; but a local witchdoctor by the name of Edward Thatch had been keeping it at bay.

When he’d passed away – just a year ago – bodies had started turning up, mutilated beyond belief. Young African-American girls who’d been tortured and left in shallow graves. The ghost had been Edward’s abusive father, who’d made his and his sisters’ lives a living hell. Everything from beatings, to sexual abuse, to slave labor.

One day, the eldest daughter had snapped. She’d grabbed her father’s belt, and tried to strangle him. She hadn’t been strong enough, and had been killed for the attempt. Mutilated, and left in a shallow grave.

Only a month later, the middle child – another girl – had grabbed a large rock, and tried to bash their father’s skull in. she’d met the same fate.

Edward had been the youngest child, and he’d learned from his sisters’ mistakes. His school teacher had been a witchdoctor too, and one day, little Edward had picked the lock to his teacher’s house and stolen his journal.

Using what he’d found in the book, he put a curse on his father; and the man was dead in a week.

Only, to his horror, that didn’t stop his father’s abuse.

The teacher had come to him, easily guessing which of his students had stolen from him. When he found out why Edward had done what he did, and what was happening, he’d taught him basic protection spells and hoodoo.

Now that Edward had finally died of old age, and father’s spirit was free to do as it pleased.  

Of the girls who had died, many of their friends and family told them the same story. They’d been acting weird for a few days leading up to their deaths. They’d all said they saw and heard things; two young girls, flickering in and out of focus, crying for help. When the modern-day victims couldn’t bare it anymore, they’d had run off to see what was wrong, how they could help the little girls; and had run straight into the father’s arms.

These were the cases Sam hated. They depressed him beyond expectation. It took him weeks to regain his faith in humanity after something like this. Dean had always said it best: demons made sense, but people were just _crazy_. Still, they all got a sick kind of pleasure out of burning the man’s bones, and hearing his screams as he faded into oblivion.

As they’d finished up, Sam and Dean both headed to the man’s house, to make sure no possessions of his remained. They found nothing; everything he owned had been wisely burned by Edward in his youth.

But as Sam walked out of the decrepit old building, he’d glanced to the backyard, and thought he saw three young children playing marbles. As soon as he noticed them, the sound of soft laughter reached his ears.

The smallest figure looked up, and gave Sam a beaming smile. His eyes crinkled in the corners slightly, making him look older than he was. Sam smiled back.

As he watched, the sun peaked over the horizon, and the children faded out of view. He knew, deep in his gut, that they were all at peace. Though he hesitated to speak too soon, he risked giving himself a pat on the back. This case, he could chalk into the ‘win’ column.

“Everything okay?” Dean asked, having finally noticed that his brother wasn’t with him.

“Yeah,” Sam said, “Right now, everything’s good.”

Dean gave him a bemused smile. “C’mon. Let’s get back to the hotel room and pack up. We have leviathans to hunt, after all.”

Sam grinned, and felt for a moment that all was right in the world. As long as he and Dean were able to keep doing this – saving people, hunting things, the family business – then the world would right itself eventually.

The sound of the children’s happy laughter, and the warm feeling in his chest, followed him all the way back to Bobby’s.

…    

From then on, while they had a brush or two with the leviathans, Sam and Dean could do nothing much but hunt. There were your simple, almost-normal cases – a wendigo in North Dakota, a werewolf in Ohio, another haunting in Hawaii – and then some things Bobby could almost call ‘too weird to be non-leviathan related’.

They had their car back. Dean had all but sobbed at the sight of her being towed to the scrapyard, and he promised her a deep clean with Bobby’s vacuum and a wax treatment to apologize. Meg rolled her eyes so hard, Sam was surprised they weren’t stuck facing the wrong way.

Gabriel came with them on most hunts. As his powers came back faster, the hunts got a little easier; though Sam had to make him swear on the tattered remnants of his grace not to kill anyone. _Jackasses included._

Gabriel settled for relatively harmless pranks. Whoops, those death-threats and dick-pics you sent that teenage girl? They just got sent to your wife and mother! Whoopsie-daisy, that dog you kicked? It turned out to be a skin-walker! Uh-oh, that cashier you verbally assaulted? She was the kid of your future would-be boss!

So on, and so forth.

Balthazar remained unconscious long enough to make them worry. After taking him to a hospital a few miles away, they discovered he had minor brain damage from his crash. Anna and Gadreel stayed by his side, keeping a constant, watchful eye. Even though the doctor said his chances of waking up were good, they were not about to take the risk.

Meg turned out more useful than expected. They were still not about to trust her with anything big, but she kept watch just fine, and didn’t complain about the backseat, so she slowly earned a pass in Sam and Dean’s book. Cas seemed thrilled.

Speaking of Cas, his own powers started coming back slowly. At first, simply healing a papercut knocked him out; but now, he could easily reset Dean’s broken collarbone and cleanse his liver to boot.

Mostly though, Cas had to stay with Bobby and Rufus, counseling on different historical weapons and protective sigils. He provided vital information to hunters, and could act as a guard for the house if need be. They weren’t about to leave home-base undefended again. There were only so many mistakes you could make twice. And where Cas went, Meg followed.

Gabriel would vanish as well, though never for more than a few days. He was checking in with old friends and contacts, seeing if maybe some pagan or fae somewhere had an inkling of what could be done about the leviathans.

So, Sam and Dean were often back to hunting alone. It wasn’t that either of them really minded; it was what they were used to, after all. But there were times when an angel sidekick would’ve come in handy.

Like that time they had to play marriage counselor to a feuding witch couple; or that time an employee at Plucky Pennywhistle’s Magical Menagerie set a pair of murderous clowns on Sam.

Dean actually found that one funny. Sam did not.

Still, the husband of the witch couple had bagged them a leviathan as a thank you, and Bobby had been experimenting on it non-stop. He’d tried everything – fruit of the poison tree, salt water injected into the veins, electrocution, mutilation, holy oil. Nothing worked.

That was, until Jody – who’d taken a few days off of work to recover – accidently dripped cleaning agents on the thing. It hissed and sizzled, and gave off the worst kind of smell. It was brilliant.

_Sodium borate_. That was the leviathan’s weakness.

Gadreel and Anna had both immediately driven over, and asked for a demonstration. Anna whooped for joy, and nearly crushed Jody in a bear-hug; which wouldn’t have been hard with her strength. Bobby, it was rumored, had _kissed_ her. Gadreel was still having his existential crisis when they high-tailed it back to Balthazar’s bedside.

There second break with the leviathans came with a case just like the rest. A pair of campers had gone missing, and Sam, Dean, and Bobby had set out to discover what was up. They learnt that Dick Roman, business mogul and billionaire, was the head-leviathan. He had attempted to engineer fast food to turn human beings into livestock for the leviathans to feed off of for eternity.

While breaking into their headquarters, Bobby had been caught and shot in the head. He’d lived – but only barely. Sam had gone to the hospital’s chapel, gotten on his knees, and prayed sincerely for the first time in years.

Gabriel had appeared, uncharacteristically serious, knowing that whatever made Sam sound like that was bad. Kali had been…busy, though when he’d finally talked to her, it had been a dead-end, anyway. She’d given him the time of day as a thank you for saving her life, but she had nothing that could help them.  

He’d healed Bobby, though it knocked him out cold. Sam had to carry him bridal-style to the impala, and gently tuck him into the backseat. Once certain that Bobby was going to be fine, and that Dean wasn’t about to do anything stupid, he went to the nearest store, and maxed his fake credit card buying candy.

When he got back, six bags of snickers bars in tow, he’d seen Dean crouched over the back window of a sleek, black limousine, hissing something threateningly. _So much for not doing something stupid._

Dean had marched back inside, and Dick Roman – for who else could it have been? – drove off, distinctly smug.

Sam wondered back inside, and Dean proudly proclaimed that Dick Roman now thought Bobby was dead. Sam didn’t know how useful that would be, but any ground they could gain, he supposed.

Cas had managed to catch a bus over, insisting that Rufus stay with Bobby’s phones and equipment. Leviathans had started appearing in the weirdest of places, and hunters from all over the world were calling in twenty-four-seven; someone they knew and trusted had to be there to pick up.

Dean only got a few minutes alone with Cas while they were all at the hospital. Once bobby woke up (hopefully before any nurses noticed that the guy who’d been shot in the head was suddenly in perfect health), they’d jack a car and headed over to Rufus’s. As of right now, though, it was too dangerous to leave him unprotected.

Slowly, surely, they gained ground. Balthazar was still out, Gadreel and Anna were still playing bodyguard for him, Meg was alone with Rufus, and Bobby was in a minor coma; but if Sam was being completely honest, he expected much worse.


	3. Mine

Both Sam and Dean were weary with relief as they hit the road again. Dean napped while Sam drove, doing his best to keep the lanes from swaying in and out of focus. After just an hour of driving, he pulled over at a Starbucks, and grabbed himself the most caffeinated drink they offered. He also grabbed some plain, black coffee for Dean, and a frozen caramel cappuccino for Gabriel, who was starting to stir in the backseat.  

The dash read **02:13** AM when Gabriel finally woke up. His drink was fresh enough that it was still good, and he almost cried at the sight of all the candy Sam had gotten him. He dug in like a starving man, and Sam managed a smile.

After a few minutes of companionable silence, Sam caught sight of the date on the late-night radio. It – in celebration of the new day – started playing a sickeningly enthusiastic Christmas carol.

Sam groaned, and shut off the radio.

“Aw,” Gabriel complained from the back. “What’s the matter, Samantha? Not a Grouchy Grinch, are you?”

“It’s November first!” Sam defended, “Besides, Jesus wasn’t even born _on_ Christmas Eve!”

“Oh, you’re just upset ‘cause you missed Halloween!” Gabriel declared. He glanced down at his tenth snickers bar, still half-eaten, and a light went off in his brain.

“Hey,” he said, handing it to Sam. “Trick or treat?”

Sam snorted a laugh against his will. “No, man. Every day is Halloween for me. The official thing is more of an inconvenience than anything else. But it’s the date. Tomorrow…”

Through the haze of drowsiness, Gabriel thought carefully about what November second meant. As he put the snickers bar back in his mouth, it seemed to hit him.

“Oh,” he said, sobering. “Your mother died…twenty-eight years ago, didn’t she?”

“And Jess,” Sam added, heart aching at the sound of her name. “She died six years ago, tomorrow.”

Gabriel’s eyes turned sad. He could sympathize with lost love.

“Jessica Moore,” he said, thinking. “I remember reading about her in the Winchester Gospel. She was somewhere between Mary Magdalen and Lilith, if memory serves.”

“Stop joking, Gabe,” Sam replied. “I don’t find it funny.”

“I’m not _joking_ , Sam.” He said, and in the rearview mirror, Sam saw Gabriel’s sincere expression. Curious, he couldn’t help but ask.

“What did it say about her?” he asked, and Gabriel hesitated before answering.

“That she was beautiful, with long hair like a rich king’s golden treasure, and brown eyes like a deer’s. She had fair skin like fresh milk, and a smile as warm as sunshine. They said her death was caused by a demon; that it was a pointless death. She was innocent of all wrongdoing, and was unjustly taken from this world. They say…”

He paused, eyes far away. “They say she was your world. That she was your happiness taken human form.”

Sam’s eyes prickled, but he bit them back. He was _not_ about to cry.

“They were right,” he said, “She was…breathtaking. And I would know, because when we first met, I scared her, and she judo-flipped me over her shoulder. She _literally_ knocked the breath out of me.”

Gabriel snorted over his drink, unable to resist. The image of six-foot-four Sam being thrown around by a girl a full head shorter than him, and a quarter his weight, was just too much.

Sam was lost in the memory. She’d thought he was trying to attack her. In reality, he was just trying to ask for directions around campus. He’d been on the ground before he could even think, with the most gorgeous girl he’d ever seen kneeling over him, apologizing furiously. The strong, midday sun had caught her sunny hair, and the breeze blew it into her face; and the sound of Brady laughing echoed in his ears. It was funny, thinking back on it, but he’d studied her and thought: _So, this is what an angel looks like._

“Do you still miss her?” Gabriel asked.

Sam smiled. “Every day.”

After that, they slipped back into silence. The sound of the impala’s tires rolling over the gravel road, and of Gabe chewing in the backseat, were all to be heard for a good, long while.        

Finally, Gabe swallowed, and turned back to Sam. “Hey, kid. If you could have anything in the world, what would it be?”

He was caught off-guard by the question. He blinked, and gave it a moment’s thought.

“I honestly don’t know. I can’t wish for things to go back to the way they were, because I’m a different guy now than I was then. Why do you ask?”

Sam could’ve sworn he saw Gabriel blush. “No reason.”

“Gabe.”

“Fine, fine.” He said. “It was just a thought. For a guy who’s lost so much, what would you ask for if you could have anything, but only _one_ thing. It’s just…a _pagan_ thing, I guess.”

“’A pagan thing.’” Sam echoed, now truly puzzled. “What _kind_ of pagan thing?”

“Not a ritual, if you were wondering.” Gabriel said defensively, taking another sip of his cappuccino. “Just…have you ever heard of _Ganymede?_ ”  

“Who?” Sam asked. The name was familiar, but he couldn’t pinpoint it.

“Well, I was just thinking,” Gabriel said, “I was visiting Kali when you called, and the topic came up. You see, _Ganymede_ was the cup-bearer of Zeus, God of the Sky. Zeus fell in lust with him, and took him to Olympus. After a night of…well.” Gabe coughed, surprisingly awkward. “ _Ganymede_ was made an immortal host of Olympus; and the god of homosexual hookups.”

“I don’t understand,” Sam said, more confused than ever. “What does this have to do with me getting whatever I want?”

“ _Caeneus. Hyacinth. Sappho_.” Gabriel listed. “They were ordinary humans who gained a supernatural favor by banging a god. It’s just something Kali and I were discussing before, and I was curious as to what you would ask for if you were caught in that position.”

“How on Earth did that topic of conversation even come up?” Sam asked, though he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“Kali…may have…picked up someone of that sort recently.” Gabriel explained, and yes, Sam was _certain_. He _was_ blushing.  

It wasn’t too hard for him to put two and two together.

“Wait,” he said, “Did you _walk in_ on them?”

Gabriel groaned in embarrassment, and covered his face with his hands. Sam laughed; he couldn’t help it. How many people got Loki, the trickster god, _embarrassed?_

“So, who was the lucky mortal?” he asked, enjoying this way too much.

“A girl named Nadia Naidoo,” Gabriel explained. “She turned eighteen a week ago. She spent her birthday smuggling a pair of tiger cubs out of a poacher’s nest in India. She ducked into Kali’s hidey-hole – a small bar that she sings at – to catch a breath, and Kali told her that if she succeeded in saving the cubs, she should come back for a free show.”

Sam whistled low, impressed. “Wow. Did she?”

“Oh, yeah.” Gabriel said. “Got the poachers arrested, too. And boy, did she get a _show._ ”

Sam chuckled. “So, what did she get? Immortality? Impenetrable skin?”

“None of the above,” Gabriel replied around a mouth-full of snickers. “From the looks of it, she got a full-body tattoo that turns into a horse-sized, black tiger when she’s threatened.”

“Remind me not to piss off anyone named Nadia in the near future,” Sam said, earning a smile from Gabriel. A thought suddenly occurred to him, though he was hesitant to voice it. However, eventually, his curiosity won out.

“What would you give me?” He asked, wording his question carefully. “If, for some reason, you owed me a favor? You were Loki, weren’t you? So, the same rules apply?”

Gabriel’s head snapped to him, eyebrows raised. For a second, that look was back; the strange, see-into-your-soul look from the inter-dimensional diner. Sam thought he was going to say something deep and profound.

“Hair-clippers,” he declared at last, pleased with his decision. “Gold-plated, enchanted hair-clippers. Every time your hair gets past a certain point? Bam! There they are.”

Sam guffawed loud enough to wake Dean.

…

November second passed by uneventfully. Sam and Dean went out for drink while Gabe rested, and by the time they made it back, he was gone. Sam found a note on his pillow next to a candy-cane, telling him that Gabriel had healed enough to travel, and was back at work. He also told him to ‘stop being such a Grouchy Grinch, and get into the holiday spirit’.

He couldn’t help but smile at that. He popped the candy-cane into his mouth, and turned to find Dean giving him a confused look.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Dean replied, going back to drinking his glass of water.

November third, Bobby was back up and running. He felt a little light on his feet, and when he stood up too fast, the world spun worryingly; but it could be much worse.

November fourth, a pair of leviathans impersonated them, and went on a murder spree through Jericho, Black Water Ridge, and the other towns they’d worked jobs at.   

November tenth, they dealt with it in true Winchester fashion; by running right at, screaming and wielding multiple deadly weapons. That went well, surprisingly. Thanks to an open-minded sheriff, they managed to kill them, fake their deaths, and move on.

They kept going like that, moving forward inch-by-inch, and dealing with each problem as it appeared. That was how they’d handled the Apocalypse, after all.

After that initial run-in with the demons, Crowley and his court remained remarkably quiet. That was about the only reprieve they got, however, as the leviathans consolidated more and more power.

A friend of Bobby’s, Frank Devereaux, ran constant interference for them. He was a conspiracy nut and an ass, but Dean quickly found himself appreciating him. They thought along the same track, which should’ve concerned him; but instead, he found it relieving.

Then, they worked a case with a set of cursed objects. When they finished up, they went to Frank’s, only to find his motor home abandoned and soaked in blood. They never heard from him again.

That was how they found Charlie Bradbury. A tech genius and avid fangirl, she hacked through Frank’s hard-drive, and subsequently discovered the truth. She wrote it off at first, then saw a leviathan eat her boss. She had a very, _very_ quick change of heart after _that._  

When Sam and Dean snuck into her place, she attacked them both with a toy sword, bruising Sam’s arm and ego before they calmed her down enough to talk to her. She volunteered to go back into the building and wipe them from Frank’s computer, and since they couldn’t go in themselves, they let her.

It was awful. Sitting in a stolen truck, browsing through security footage, while a ninety-pound girl did their dirty work. Everyone was irritable, and it was almost impossible to keep Bobby in the truck.

“They already think I’m a doornail,” he grouched, “They won’t be looking for me!”

“Look, Bobby,” Sam consoled, “You don’t have a keycard. And even if you made it in, they’ve never seen you before. You’ll make her.”

Bobby continued to grumble, but stayed put.

This lead to an incredibly amusing walk-through on how to be a decent criminal. Sam had to use ‘Harry Potter’ to talk her into the building, and then Dean had to teach her how to flirt with a man. She nearly botched it twice, due to Sam not being able to keep his mouth shut. Gabriel was going to _love_ this.

Sam frowned. He had only a moment to ponder, _when did I start looking forward to gossiping with a trickster?_ Before part two of the plan went into action. Charlie successfully bluffed past the guard, and hacked through Dick’s e-mail, before returning to her desk.

“Hey, guys,” She said, “It looks like Roman has stopped his digging. He’s having a package sent in from Saudi Arabia.”

“What time?” Sam asked, getting his notepad and pen ready.

“Crap.” She said, “It’s already here, and – _ew,_ the jet is courtesy of _Trump._ Why am I not surprised he’s a leviathan? – is set to arrive in forty-five minutes. What are the chances of you making it to Roman’s private airstrip in time?”

“We can try.” Dean said, heading to the driver’s seat while biting back a smile.

“Hey, Charlie,” Sam said, “you’re a genius.”

“I know,” she replied, “It’s a problem.”

Sam smiled. “Get out of there, ASAP. But first, we need a quick favor.”

“Yeah?”

“We need more time.”

He could almost hear Charlie smirk over the earpiece. “Not a problem. Dick Roman just got an e-mail saying the plane will be half-an-hour late.”

“You’re the best, Charl. Call us when you’re clear.”

“Text you from the border, bitches.” She said, and Sam was only half-sure she was joking.

“You ready?” Dean called from the front.

“Yup. Let’s hit the road.”

“Finally,” Bobby groaned from the passenger seat.

The package Roman was expecting was locked in your average, steel suitcase. Getting it was so easy, Sam was almost certain it was a trap. The two brothers had been able to bait-and-switch like pros before they were in their double-digits. He and Dean stole an identical case, and rigged it to blow.

They waited casually by yet _another_ stolen car, and let Roman’s limo pass them by. As soon as it was gone, they jumped in the car, and Bobby stepped on the gas.

“What’d we win?” Dean asked, checking his phone.

Sam, who sat in the backseat, clicked open the case, and unraveled the cloth almost reverently. He’d expected some ancient weapon of mass destruction, or some or other priceless artifact. Instead, it revealed…

“A hunk of red clay?” Sam asked, bemused.

_“What?!”_ Bobby and Dean both demanded.

“I’m serious,” Sam said. “It is literally a hunk of red clay. I’m guessing whatever Dick wants is inside.”

“Great,” Bobby said, “Why don’t we figure it out several thousand miles away from here?”

“Agreed,” Sam replied.

“But first,” Dean interjected, “Circle back to Roman Inc. Charlie hasn’t called yet, and it’s been a full two hours.”

Bobby yanked hard on the wheel, and they made it back in just under thirty minutes. Soon enough to hear the sirens start to blare.

“Crap!” Dean yelled, and dove out of the car, despite the fact that it was still moving. Sam was quick on his heels, the spray-bottles of borax in hand. As a well-trained, well-oiled unit, they dove through the glass.

Charlie hadn’t screwed around. She’d made it all the way to the front doors before being caught by the emergency lockdown. Her red hair hung in her pale face, and she cradled her arm close to her chest. And walking up to her, grinning like a shark, was Dick Roman.

It took Bobby, Dean, and Sam fighting to get out. Sam threw his gear to Bobby, easily plucked up Charlie, and bolted. Dean and Bobby covered them, and quickly followed.

Sam sat Charlie in the back of the car, right next to the artifact, and jumped into the driver’s seat. He was already moving when Bobby and Dean caught them, diving into the back and passenger seats respectively.

Sam hit the gas, and they were gone.


	4. The Lucky One

Meanwhile, several thousand miles away, AP student Kevin Tran was playing the cello in his pristinely-organized bedroom. The sound of perfectly in-tune chords melding from one note to the next filled the house, sending a sense of heavenly calm through the empty hallways.

He didn’t realize, at first, that his cello practice had ended. He was so caught up in the music, that the alarm went completely unnoticed. It was his girlfriend calling him on his phone that finally jarred him out of his reverie.

Channing wanted him to ease off a little on how hard he was working. _“Your GPAs are great,”_ she told him, _“You’ll do fine.”_

“Everyone’s GPAs are great,” he scoffed, “I have to be _perfect._ ”

Once they hung up, he grabbed a bottle of water, and walked over to the window to get some fresh air. It was only notched open a little; there were no burglar bars, and he didn’t want to press his luck.

Thunder struck from not too far away, and he frowned. The last time he checked, the sky was clear; and they didn’t get freak storms often around Michigan.

Several states over, The Winchesters were squatting in an abandoned warehouse. Bobby had taken a different car and checked Charlie into a hospital under an alias. He’d give her some money and tips, then for her own safety, a bus ticket as far away from them as possible.

They set the hunk of clay on a table, put on some safety goggles, and got to work. Dean picked up a hammer, and brought it down hard on the rock.

Thunder boomed outside, loud enough to make Kevin jump. Now _that_ was a little out of the ordinary.   

Dean waited for the thunder to die out, before striking the rock again. Thunder boomed even louder, lasting even longer.

Kevin closed his window with another frown, and realized that his ‘study for calculus’ alarm had been going off for two minutes now. He rushed forward, and switched it off. He also unplugged his laptop, in case the house was hit by lightning. The lamp was replaceable, but his laptop was not.

“Hey,” Dean asked, “That sound like someone upstairs saying, ‘no, stop, wait!’ to you?”

“Yup,” Sam replied, staring at the rock quizzically.

Dean shrugged, and brought the hammer down again. Lightning hit the ground right outside, but Dean ignored it, and powered on.

Kevin took a nervous sip of his water as the lights flickered worryingly. The thunder was almost continuous now, and he had half a mind to go downstairs and switch on the news. Something like this was definitely getting some attention, right?

Dean brought his hammer down one last time, as hard as he could. The clay fell away, revealing pitch-black, polished stone. Carved onto its front was writing in some ancient language, symbols that not even Bobby would be able to place.

Kevin looked up at the ceiling in his room, a sick feeling in his gut. A bright, blindingly white flash blotted out his vision, and he saw and thought no more.

…

Dean groaned his way back to consciousness with no small amount of reluctance. He’d been sleeping on his belly, face-down in a sleeping bag. All of his clothes, even his shoes, were still on in case they needed to bolt. God, he missed their motel days.

Sam sat at their rickety camping table, laptop perched in front of him. He looked fresh, and ready for the day. Ever since the leviathans, they’d taken to sleeping in shifts, for security’s sake.

Dean stumble over to their pathetic excuse for a kitchen, grabbing a flask and some cheap coffee as he did so.

“Any news?” he asked Sam, watching the kettle boil with boredom.

“Well, get this,” Sam replied, pulling up a link on his computer. “At exactly eight last night – the time we opened the hunk of rock – every maternity ward on the continent was flooded. All the way from the Alaskan border into Mexico. Every single woman in the last month of her pregnancy suddenly went into labor.”

“Huh,” Dean said, too tired to be more than casually interested. “Guess this one goes out to all the ladies out there. Anything else?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, “Five minutes after we cracked it open and you went to bed, every angel we know called us.” He leaned back, stretching, and greedily accepted the flask of coffee Dean offered.

“Cas called, and then he was cut off by Gabriel, who was cut off by Anna. They were all trying to scream at us, mostly. _‘What did you fuckers break?’_ was their favorite question. Also, Balthazar woke up.”

Those first few facts fit easily with what Dean was expecting, but the last one slipped him up. “Wait, Balthazar’s _awake?_ Since _when?_ ”

“Eight PM, last night,” Sam answered, sipping his coffee.

“Damn,” Dean muttered, picking up the polished black stone. The writing was encrusted with gold, and glimmered where the light caught it. It thrummed in his hand, as if it were alive, and was heavier than something the size of an iPad had any right to be.

“So, any idea what is?”

“I took a picture of it, and sent it to Gadreel. He should get back to us soon.”

“Great,” Dean said, rubbing his forehead. He looked around, taking stock of his surroundings. He didn’t think anything would be out of the ordinary, but it was second nature; and it wasn’t a habit he planned to break.

“Hey,” he said, noticing something off, “Where’s Bobby?”

“Out being a hero,” Sam replied, standing. “We ran out of gasoline, protein bars, and bottled water. And we’re down to our last cannister of coffee.”

“Brave man,” Dean said, stealing Sam’s seat. “So, what now?”

“Now, we pack,” Sam said, “We still need to put as much space between us and Dick Roman as possible. Bobby think’s Rufus’s cabin, but I think we can do better. Remember that succubus in Vancouver?”

Dean thought back. Now that Sam had mentioned it, he remembered something like that.

“Yeah, I think so. Just before your high school graduation, right?”

“Yup,” Sam replied, “Well, I did some digging, and that little holiday place dad bought? It’s still in his name.”

“Come on,” Dean complained, “I _hate_ Canadian weather. _Especially_ this time of year.”

“It’s better than being a big-mouth’s lunch,” Sam chastised, “Now get packing. Bobby’s bringing Starbucks with him, and he wants us ready to go the second he’s back.”

Getting everything together was a little too easy. They each had a backpack of clothes that they shared when needed, One Ziploc bag of toiletries, an entire trunk apiece of weapons, Sam’s laptop, a flip-file of fake IDs and badges, and a sleeping-bag each. On top of that, they had three pieces of camping gear – one table, one cot, and one chair – and four basic utilities – a kettle, toilet paper, three flasks, and a first-aid kit.    

They had everything either in hand or on their backs in under five minutes. There was a second of debate as to where to stash of rock, but in the end, they decided to use a belt to tie it around Sam’s waist. The closer to them, the safer it was.

They drove for a whole day, making their way through two states. They had to head North regardless of what they were doing, so they figured they’d stop off at Rufus’s cabin and regroup with the others.

Sam spent nearly the entire day on the phone; first with Cas, who wanted to know every detail of what they’d done, then with Gabriel, who congratulated them on ‘possibly fucking up the world _yet again’_ , then with Gadreel, who said that Balthazar was desperate to talk to Cas.

 _“Before that, though,_ ” Gadreel said, “ _I’ve discovered what you have with you.”_

Sam immediately clicked the phone onto speaker. Dean, who was in the back, looked up from the blades he was re-sharpening. Bobby kept his eyes on the road, but Sam could tell he was paying attention.

“What do we have?” he asked.

_“The Word of God.”_

Bobby hit the brakes hard enough to send Dean flying into the back of Sam’s seat. Sam was able to brace himself against the dashboard, but knew that the bruises coating his arms were going to be concerning at best.

“We have the WHAT?!” Bobby cried over Dean’s cussing.

“ _The Word of God,_ ” Gadreel repeated patiently. _“Or, one of them, at least. Given Dick Roman’s intense desire to find it, it is likely the Leviathan Tablet.”_

Sam picked it up from where he’d set it on his lap, and frowned.

“So, why is it important? What does it say?”

 _“I couldn’t tell you what’s written on it,”_ Gadreel explained, _“As far as I knew, the tablets and all like them were destroyed by demonic forces eons ago. But it has been said that on it, you will find spells, information, and instructions.”_

“Instructions to what?” Dean asked, wiping away a slight nosebleed as he spoke. He sent Bobby a dark look that went completely ignored. “And why didn’t you bring this up before?”

 _“It was put in place before my time; but they say that there were four tablets created,”_ Gadreel said. _“One for angels, one for demons, one for leviathans, and one for the fae._

_“These creatures symbolize the different worlds that coincide with ours; Hell, Heaven, Purgatory, and Seelie. Seelie refers to the world occasionally seen by psychics; C.S. Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkien, L. Frank Baum, Holly Black, and a few others. It is a universe that exists between Heaven and Earth, in the same way Purgatory sits between Earth and Hell. It is home to beings of great power and craftiness; I suppose it could be what you’d refer to as another dimension._

_“Each tablet contains instructions to shutting off the bridge connecting each world; it will allow you to, for example, cast every angel back to Heaven, and make it impossible for them to interfere with the mortal plane ever again. If done in reverse, this spell will do the opposite; it will cast every angel from Heaven, sending them crashing to Earth, and making it impossible for them to return home.”_

Gadreel seemed to pause for breath, or possibly for dramatic effect. _“And lastly, I did not mention the tablet to you because if I tried to list everything that could’ve helped us centuries ago, but won’t now, it would’ve taken me a month to work through the list.”_

They sat quietly, processing this, before Sam plucked up the courage to voice their thoughts.

“And this tablet – the Leviathan Tablet – will do the same for the leviathans?”

 _“Yes,”_ This time, it was Anna who spoke into the phone, _“What you’re holding is an instruction manual for banishing the leviathans from Earth, forever.”_

For a good, long moment, no-one could speak. Then Dean cheered from the backseat, loud and sudden enough to scare the crap out of Sam. Bobby cracked a grin, and Sam could feel his own good mood returning.

 _“Don’t get too excited,”_ Anna said, voice serious. “ _You can’t read what’s on that stone, and neither can we. It’s not meant for us.”_

“So, which poor bastard can?” Bobby asked.

 _“A Prophet,”_ Gadreel interjected. _“The only person capable of reading the Word of God is a Prophet of the Lord; or, the angel who wrote the Word down in the first place – Metatron.”_

“Megatron?” Dean asked, lost, “A transformer wrote the Word of God?”

 _“Me-ta-tron,”_ Anna sounded out, exasperated. _“He was an angel like Gadreel and Imogen; created for a specific purpose. He was to write down God’s Will. If you could find him, he could translate the tablet for you.”_

“So, where is this guy?” Sam asked.

 _“No-one knows for sure,”_ Anna replied. _“Honestly, the Prophet is your best bet. After Chuck Shurley, the next name on the list is Kevin Tran. You’ll find him wherever the storm you unleashed was strongest.”_

“Thank you,” Sam said, “Anything else?”

“ _Yes,”_ Gadreel responded. _“You must hurry. Roman knows you’ve awakened the tablet, and that it is in your possession. If you thought he was obsessed with looking for that tablet, he will be twice as desperate to find the Prophet.”_

With that, they hung up.

“Sam?” Bobby asked.

“Already on it,” he replied, whipping out his phone and checking Google. “The storm was strongest over Neighbor, Michigan.”

That was all the incentive Bobby needed. He spun the wheel and changed direction, flying towards Michigan.


	5. I Know Places

Kevin woke up on his bedroom floor, to the sound of his cellphone ringing. His head hurt, his fingers and toes tingled, and he grew more and more nauseous with each passing heartbeat.

He could remember nothing; not how he came to be on the floor, nor why. He sat up slowly, blood rushing through his ears. The sound of cracking below him made him look around.

His window had blown in. Shards of glass coated his bed, desk, trophies, and floor. He had several nicks and cuts all over his body, but didn’t seem injured.

As he struggled to keep his vision from swimming, his call ended. He distantly heard his mother’s voicemail on the other side of the phone. Most of her words were gibberish, but one sentence stuck out clearly.

_“…Know your probably already heading into the test, but I just want you to know that I don’t…”_

His head shot up, and found his alarm clock sitting on his nightstand.

**10:02** AM.

“Crap!” he yelled, clambering to his feet. The test. He was late for his test. This was his last chance to get a perfect math score! How the hell had he missed this?

He grabbed his backpack, still packed from the day before, and his jacket. He ran from his room, but stopped dead just inside the door.

His mind blanked. His pupils glowed. A feeling of divine providence – or perhaps, a mild nervous breakdown – washed over him.

He had been chosen. He had to accept his birthright. He had been given a mission – an important one. Though what it was, he couldn’t say.

He had to leave now.

…

“Alright, Cas,” Sam said over the phone, “I need to know if I’ve got the right Kevin Tran here; we don’t have the luxury of making a mistake.”

_“Describe him to me,”_ Cas replied, voice crackling with static from one of Bobby’s crappy phones. _“Not his appearance, but his personality, his records, his awards.”_

Sam sifted through a website he honestly shouldn’t have access to.

“Okay, he’s seventeen-years-old, and a straight-A student in a private school. He has several awards, commendations, and trophies. Most are for academic excellence, music, spelling bees, and calculus competitions. His mother is Linda Tran, a lawyer, and His father was a highly decorated Captain in the army before he died. He was shot while deployed in Afghanistan.” Sam cringed in sympathy.

“His teacher’s all say he’s prodigious, meticulously organized, ambitious, and charismatic. He’s already sending out applications to Yale, Princeton, and Harvard. That sound about right?”

“That is him,” Cas said, over the sound of something breaking in the background. “The Prophets were designed to spread the Word of the Lord among the masses; as a result, they all share certain traits. They’re all ambitious, compassionate, forward-thinking and intelligent; they have to be.”

Sam nodded, and took down the kid’s address. “What are the chances we get there before Roman does?”

_“Good, surprisingly,”_ He answered. Sam swore he heard glass shattering from somewhere Cas’s side. _“Although the leviathans know a Keeper of the Word will appear, they have no way of knowing who he is. If you can make it to him before they figure it out, our chances of ending the leviathan’s reign will be greatly increased.”_

“Thanks, Cas,” Sam said, and Dean chimed his own thanks in from the driver’s seat. “We owe you one, buddy.”

“Hey,” Sam asked, suddenly remembering, “Have you spoken to Balthazar yet?”

_“He called,”_ Cas answered, _“He said he wished to speak with me in person. He said it was important, and for my ears before anyone else’s.”_

“What did he say?” Dean demanded, and Sam bit down on his check to keep from smiling. Maybe reign in the jealousy a little there, tiger?

_“I don’t know,”_ Cas said, _“We’ve not talked yet. I have been unable to leave the cabin, and Balthazar remains too weak to leave the hospital.”_

Another sound came from Cas’s side – a scream.

“What’s going on over there?” Dean asked, “Are you watching horror movies, or something?”

“ _No,”_ Cas sighed. _“It’s Rufus and Meg. I’ve been unable to keep them civil these past few weeks. As it is, Meg is in a devil’s trap, and Rufus wants to shoot her ‘so full of rock salt, she craps margaritas’.”_

“Why?” Sam asked around a laugh.

_“Rufus says Meg was trying to kill him. Meg claims she just wanted ‘hate sex’, as she put it.”_ Cas sighed again. _“I feel like an over-burdened babysitter.”_

Sam snorted. He didn’t know much about Jewish religious requirements and rules, but he was pretty sure ‘don’t fuck a demon’ (or some variation thereof) was in there somewhere. Dean shook his head. “Alright. We’re coming up on Neighbor, so we’ll get back to you when we’ve got the Prophet with us.”

_“Good luck,”_ Cas said, and hung up.

“Well,” Bobby muttered from the backseat, having been silent through most of the conversation. “This should be a piece of cake.”

…

Kevin wasn’t even fully aware of what he was doing. He remembered taking his mom’s car, a freshly-packed bag hauled over one shoulder. He remembered leaving Neighbor, following the singing in his head. It sounded like a chorus of angels, all getting louder and louder the farther he went.

He was being guided to a place of importance. Despite his normally inquisitive nature, he didn’t question how or why; not yet, anyway.

The feeling of the car’s steady, rhythmic movement lulled him into a coma-like state. Muscle memory guided his body with the wheel, the gear box, the pedals. All he could focus on was the singing in his head.

If he’d had the forethought to look in the mirror, he would’ve seen his eyes gleam bronze. And if he’d looked close enough, he would’ve seen the symbols scrolling across his pupils. It was the car horn from a truck whose lane he’d slipped into that jumped him out of his reverie. He screamed, and swerved. From its place on the passenger seat, his phone rang, making him scream again.

What was he doing? _What State was he in?_  And where the hell was he going?

He answered the phone habitually.

“Hello?”

_“Kevin?”_ Channing. It was Channing. She sounded…Annoyed? What had he done this time? _“Where were you today? You missed the test! And student council!”_

“I- I had to leave,” He stuttered. Where was he? What was he doing out here? His eyes glowed once again, and the singing came back; farther away, but still audible. “I have been chosen. It’s my birthright.”

“ _Oh, God,”_ she asked, “ _This isn’t one of those over-achieving student breakdowns, is it?”_

“I -I don’t…” He trailed off. It was hard to keep his eyes on the road. He was so tired. He’d been driving all day.

“Kevin? Talk to me,” She sounded desperate, “Where are you?”

For a moment, his head cleared. “I don’t know. I think I had a seizure.” The singing started growing in volume. He had no time for this. He had a mission.

“I have to keep driving…”

“ _Kevin?”_ Channing’s voice went low. _“Is there someone with you? Did someone make you take your mom’s car? Kevin!”_

He wasn’t listening anymore. The phone slipped from his hand.

He still didn’t know what he was doing. He knew taking his mom’s car was bad, but it was necessary. He followed the road leaving Neighbor, followed the singing in his head.

He had wasted enough time. He had something to do.

He had to keep driving.

…

Sam only looked away from the road for a second. He swore, it was only one second. His phone buzzed – it could’ve been important! It might’ve been Castiel, or Rufus, or Anna! Or even Gabriel! It was _not_ his fault.

He turned to his beeping phone, plucking it out of the passenger dashboard. It put up a fight – he'd shoved it between a handgun and a pile of empty Starbucks cups. Plus, Dean’s long legs were squishing the cubbyhole closed, making it harder to reach.

Point is, one second the road was clear, and the next, a silver Toyota nearly rammed them.

“Shit!” He screamed, and violently yanked the wheel to his right. He could catch the other driver doing the same out of the corner of his eye.

“Ah!” Dean screeched, jumping awake in the passenger seat. His breathing was quick and short, his sunglasses skew. “What the hell?”

Bobby rolled off the backseat, and several curses floated up from where he now lay; face-down in an empty pizza box.

Sam took a moment to catch his breath. The two cars had stopped almost side-by-side on a narrow, deserted highway, only about a foot of space between them. If that car had hit them, no matter whether it was his fault or not, Sam would’ve spent the next year regulated to the trunk. The driver of the silver Toyota was clearly in the wrong. He’d been in the opposite lane. But when he clambered out of the car, shaky and weak, Sam’s heart softened a little. It was only a kid – a teenager, by the looks of it.

Dean wasn’t so quick to forgive.

“What the shit, man? You could’ve killed us!” He screamed, climbing out of the car. His voice was an octave too high from the shock, and he hadn’t fixed his glasses yet, making him look deranged. The kid jumped like he’d been stung, and turned his wide eyes to Dean. Sam climbed out, joining the fray, and Bobby managed to roll himself into a sitting position in the backseat.

The air outside was icy and cold, and their breaths came out in visible puffs.

“Wha-” The kid blinked repeatedly, as if dazed. “Who are you? W- Where am I?”

He leaned heavily against his car. Dean prodded forward slowly, still upset, but more curious now than anything else.

“Woah, kid,” he asked, “You okay?”

“I- I don’t…”

The kid didn’t have a chance to finish. A bright light shone down on them from above, nearly blinding them. Sam’s first thought was ‘angels?’ but no- the light was too weak. It didn’t burst the blood vessels in his eyes like heavenly light did. It was a searchlight from a helicopter – and when did that get here? Wouldn’t he have heard it?

“THIS IS THE NEIGHBOR POLICE DEPARTMENT! PUT YOUR HANDS BEHIND YOUR HEADS AND GET ON THE GROUND NOW!” The voice reverberated through a megaphone.

Sam cussed out every deity he could think of, climbing back into the driver’s seat. Dean started to back up, but didn’t get a chance. The kid looked up, screamed, and all but flung himself at Dean.

“Take me with you,” he begged, “Please! They’re not police!”

“No way, man,” he replied, “We’ve got enough problems right now-”

“Please!” he continued to plead. “They’re not cops! I think they want to kill me! I don’t know how I know, but…”

Dean will readily admit he was curious, but they had to get into Michigan. The kid had tears in his eyes, and his voice cracked with real fear. He could’ve been drunk or high as far as Dean knew, but something in his eyes made Dean think twice. Or, it might’ve been the sweater-vest and buttoned-down shirt. No way this guy was a criminal.

“GET ON THE GROUND NOW!” The voice above them repeated.

He made a snap-judgement call.

“In,” he said, and the boy shot passed him and into the backseat.

Sam almost didn't wait for Dean to climb in himself before hitting the gas and taking off. Bobby, who’d pulled up a map, was trying to find the nearest hiding spot. If he was surprised that a borderline-hysterical Asian kid had crawled into the seat next to him, he didn’t show it.

It took half an hour to ditch the police. Around the next bend, two police cars rolled up behind them, sirens blaring. Over the course of their run, three more cars joined in. At long last, they tore into a wheat field, losing both the cops and the ’copter. The cold air bit at Sam’s cheeks and nose, almost blotting out the smell of compost from the field and pollution from the highway. Crickets and cicadas sang their song around them.

They left the car there, covered by the crops. Following their earlier example, Dean grabbed the trunk, Sam grabbed their other equipment, and Bobby grabbed their extra passenger.

“C’mon,” he told the kid, “We gotta hide.”

“I know a place,” The kid said, “Botanical garden, n-not too far. Won’t look for us there.”

Sam raised an eyebrow, and shared a look with Dean.

“Lead the way,” Dean said, and the kid started walking.

For the first minute or so, they walked in silence. They stayed low, moved quickly, and kept away from the roads. Whenever they heard sirens, they froze like startled jack rabbits, and waited for the sounds to pass.

“So,” Dean whispered. He was right behind the kid, with Sam behind him, and Bobby bringing up the rear. “What’re you running from?”

The kid frowned, forehead crinkling. His voice cracked awkwardly. “I…don’t actually know.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “You don’t know?”

“It- I can’t explain it,” he said, “I just – there was this storm earlier on, and I- I think I had a seizure? I don’t know.”

“What’s your name?” Sam asked, startling Dean. He had this look in his eyes; the same one he got on cases, when all the little pieces of evidence started clicking together.

“What?” the kid asked, “Why does that matter?”

Sam used his long legs to stride forward and step in front of the kid, blocking his way.

“Are you Kevin Tran?” he asked seriously, and the kid faltered.

“How did you know that?” His eyes went wide. “Who are you?”

Sam, Dean, and Bobby all shared a loaded look. All that trouble, rushing, and planning; all for this kid, who’d bumped right into them.

“What are you doing out here?” Sam asked, trying for the ‘concerned adult’ tone of voice.

The kid – Kevin – made a good show of looking very small all of a sudden.

“I don’t really know. I think – there was this huge storm a bit ago, right over my house, and…” he couldn’t seem to find the words. “It just felt like something I needed to do. It sounds crazy, but I don’t know how to explain it any other way.” He wrung his hands, a nervous tick from his youth he never quite ditched.

Dean stepped over, sharing a silent conversation with Sam. Bobby looked unimpressed, but since that was his dominant emotion, it went unremarked.

“Kid,” Dean asked, “Were you, per say…hit by lightning during that storm?”

Kevin looked at him like he was crazy. It was a look Dean got a lot.

“How the hell would you know that?” he asked, looking less like a startled kid and more like a deer caught in the headlights. “Seriously, who are you?”

“My name is Sam,” Sam introduced, “This is my brother, Dean; and that over there is Bobby. We’re friends, okay? We won’t hurt you.”

Kevin had gone very pale, and was now watching them with a keen eye. He looked like every poor decision he’d ever made was flashing before his eyes, all leading up to this exact moment.

A siren started circling near them again, the noise snapping them out of their reverie. They ducked as a single unit, and waited for the siren to pass by.

“The garden?” Dean reminded him.

“Right,” Kevin said, the whites of his eyes still very visible in the darkness. “This way.”


	6. Welcome to New York

They managed to hide there until daybreak. Dean had hauled the suitcase around the whole time, grouching about their rotten luck. Their equipment wasn’t much lighter, but Sam held it together. Bobby grumped too, just as pissy; but instead about how he was ‘far too old’ for this ‘running from the cops bullshit’.

Sam seemed to be the only one appreciating that they were not in jail at the moment, so he latched on to Kevin. The explanation for how they knew who he was went something like this:

“Last night’s storm was no accident or fluke.”

“What?”

“You were chosen by Heaven to be a Prophet; someone capable of reading the Word of God.”

_“What?”_

“The Earth is being invaded by primordial creatures called leviathan. They’re taking over the corporate industry by eating people and shapeshifting into them. They want to turn humanity into a food source like we do with cattle, and rule the world.”

“…”

It was a productive conversation.

Sam at the very least, managed to sell him on being a Prophet. The singing he heard in his head was enough proof of that. He also confirmed that being near Sam felt right, which Sam knew was a result of the tablet.

When he took it out from where it had been wrapped around his waist, and set it in Kevin’s hands, it had glowed. Kevin’s eyes had mimicked the strange gleam in a way that looked a lot like scrolling through computer code.

When he spoke, his voice echoed unnaturally, as if hundreds of other voices were speaking with him.

Convincing him of leviathans also wasn’t much of a problem, though it was a lot to wrap his mind around. Sam broke into the small café, and brewed him a pot of coffee. The kid needed it.

When employees showed up and started declaring the place open for business, they hid. It was only when they saw other guests start to stream in through the doors, that they decided it was safe to take a seat at the café and place a few legitimate orders.

They must have made quite the sight; one grumpy drunk in his mid-fifties, one ken doll-wannabe clutching a bloodstained suitcase older than he was, one giant toting camping gear, and an Asian kid who looked like he was having three existential crises at once.

All four of them were covered in mud, twigs, and sweat. They all had deep bags under their eyes from sleep-deprivation. And lastly, none of the security seemed to remember letting them in.

Dean had called Cas during the night, and he’d sent Rufus down with a pick-up truck to fetch them. They just had to hang tight for the day, and avoid any and all monsters.

Easy as pie.

They lasted till two PM before they got into trouble. Kevin asked tons of questions, then began studying the writing. He confirmed that, yeah, he could read it. But it wasn’t easy. It was like trying to read with someone else’s glasses on; it worked, but it hurt.

Using Sam’s ever-present notepad, he began doodling on the page, trying to get the letters and grammar right. Sam had tucked his jacket around the little geek when he’d started to shiver in the cold, and made sure the waitress kept the coffee coming. 

Sam decided it wasn’t his fault if he looked a little like an over-protective pit-bull; this was their only hope to _save the world._ Dean and Bobby managed to be a little subtler, but they still crowded the kid a bit. They couldn’t really help it.  

He lasted about ten minutes, before he broke. He started crying out of nowhere, his breath coming out in short hitches and hiccups. Sam, for all Dean claimed he was good at comforting people, was trapped. Bobby gave him a quick, sharp look, like: _what are you waiting for? Fix it_.

So, Sam spent a good five minutes comforting the kid, eyes searching the café for help desperately.

“I- I just w-wanted to be the f-first Asian-American President o-of the United Sates. Was that (sniff) too m-much to ask?”

Sam just kept patting him on the back, deeply uncomfortable.

Since they were ordering, the waitress also gave them the wi-fi password; and Bobby set about checking for any and all leviathan activity in the area. He used his phone to commune with Rufus, and kept in touch with Cas, who routed calls from multiple confused hunters back to him.

Dean contented himself with their range of pie at first, and watched the semi-exotic birds pick at the empty tables. The breeze was just a little too cold to be comfortable, and he clutched his coffee close. He went for a walk, checking the place out, noting the exits, and memorizing security shifts.

It worked…until it didn’t.

Sam had been checking e-mails from other hunters on his phone, when he’d glanced up at the crappy TV in the corner. On the screen was a student ID picture next to the make and license-plate of a silver Toyota, and a news presenter begging anyone with information regarding a missing kid to come forward.

Sam only glanced at the picture in passing, then did a double-take.

Kevin. The kid was _Kevin._

Like watching a train wreck, Sam saw their waitress frown, and turn from the TV to their table. She locked eyes with Sam, and the recognition was unmistakable. He had, after all, been second on the Most-Wanted list, and now had a missing kid in his care.

The waitress bolted, diving into the back of the café and locking the door. Sam knew he wouldn’t catch her; she was already out of view. He grabbed his stuff, catching Bobby’s eye and gesturing. The man grabbed their trunk, which Dean had left there, and got up.

“Split up,” he said, “Take the kid. I’ll get Dean and call Rufus.”

Sam nodded, and plucked a deeply confused Kevin off of his seat. “C’mon, kiddo. Let’s finish this somewhere safe.”

The kid was swimming in Sam’s jacket, making him look even younger. He held the tablet close – he was yet to release his white-knuckled grip on that thing today – and grabbed the pen and notepad. Pulling the kid close in a one-armed hug, he bluffed through security and managed to get them into the parking lot.

“What’s going on?” he asked, wisely keeping his voice low and tone casual. The Prophet learned quick, alright.

“We’ve been made,” Sam whispered back. “Our waitress saw your ID on the TV. Your mom’s put out a missing person’s alert. There is _no way_ the leviathans haven’t caught that.”

Kevin went a shade greener than was healthy, and tucked himself a little closer into Sam’s side. 

They walked towards a random car – a dark grey Range Rover – as if it were completely normal. Sam slipped a homemade window-jack between the window and the door, tricking the lock, and they both climbed inside. The drive to their rendezvous only took a few minutes, and all the while, Kevin was whispering to himself.

_“Insane. This is insane. This is crazy. How is this my life?”_

Sam, mostly from experience, ignored him. He’d been witness to many supernatural-related mental breakdowns. The first motel in the phonebook was ‘ _The Lil’ Italy B &B’_. It was your average, every day, low-budget, termite-infested hellhole. It was as familiar to Sam as the impala.

He grabbed his precious cargo out of the passenger seat, slung his duffel-bag over his shoulder, and quickly smuggled them inside. The lady at the front desk was pushing fifty, with a thick pair of glasses and silver curls. She gave him a gap-toothed smile as he entered.

“Hello, sweeties. One king?” She asked, resting her fingers on the keyboard. It took Sam a moment to catch up.

“Wha- no. No, no. Two twins, please.” He randomly plucked a fake credit card from his wallet and thoughtlessly handed it over. He supposed he couldn’t blame the lady; Kevin had all but crawled under his arm, and he was wearing a jacket that was obviously Sam’s. It was probably a good thing; better she thought they were eloping than that they were running from the law. He took a moment to look around, getting the lay of the place in case they had to bolt again.

It was old, and covered in faux-Italian décor. Plenty of reds and golds jumped out at them, and portraits of famous wine connoisseurs hung on three of the walls. The fourth, behind the old lady, was wallpapered to look like a scene from Italy; a sunny vineyard near a beach of some kind.    

An old, gold-leafed chandelier hung above their heads, just low enough that Sam had to duck under it. The sound of soft, violin-laden classical music came from somewhere, and the smell of freshly-baked garlic bread covered _everything._

She handed him the key with a cheerful smile, and said, “Enjoy your stay!”

He gave her his most innocent smile, wrapped a protective arm around Kevin, and marched them to room – he checked the tag on the key – thirteen. Naturally.

He closed and locked the door behind them. The room was neat and semi-clean, if not as grand as advertised. Beige, floral wallpaper wrapped the walls in false cheer. Two beds covered in identical, dark grey-brown sheets sat in the center of the room, pushed up against the back wall. A mahogany desk sat up against the far wall, and a plush, matching chair accompanied it. A simple light fixture was attached to the ceiling, bathing everything in a stale, white light.

The room smelled like mothballs and dust, and a single window showed the busy street outside. A tiny, white Christmas tree decorated in gold tinsel and a gold star sat on the desk. It wasn’t upper-class, or even middle-class, but it was cozy; and just like every motel room Sam had stayed in over the years. _Home, sweet home._

He gently sat Kevin on one bed, making sure he wasn’t about to puke or pass out, then threw his duffel on the other. He zipped it open, then pulled out a homemade borax-shooter. It was a stolen-then-refurbished fire extinguisher they’d pumped full of cleaning chemicals, that had the labels ripped off and replaced with a crudely-drawn, circular mouth.

Now all there was to do was keep an eye on the entrance from the window, and wait for Dean and Bobby.


	7. All Too Well

Dean and Bobby – followed closely by Rufus – only pulled up at nine that night. Sam had kept watch while Kevin slept, curled up tight on top of the sheets, breathing even and slow.

They took their time getting to the room, checking to make sure the place was clear. Sam only bothered waking the kid when they knocked on the door, letting him get as much sleep as he could.

They went through the motions, exchanging borax bottles to double-check their identities, then gathered up the stuff. Kevin was all but dead on his feet, which was maybe a good thing. Rufus gave him an up-and-down look, as if to say, _‘this is what’s going to save us?’_

They took the Range Rover and Rufus’ pickup back to the cabin. Dean drove while Sam slept in the passenger seat, and Kevin crashed in the back.

Dean drove, and drove, until the lanes blurred. His eyes almost started drifting closed, and then his phone rang, startling him. His reflexes were excellent, so he didn’t _yank_ the wheel like Sam had, but his heart had jumped into his throat.

He grabbed it, then hit ‘answer’ without checking. “Hello?”

“Dean?” Cas asked. Dean forced his eyes to stay open.

“Hey, Buddy,” he answered, “What’s up?”

“I tried to reach Sam earlier, but he never answered. Is everything okay?”

“It’s good,” Dean answered, choking down a yawn. “It’s all good. We’ve got the Prophet. Heading back now.”

Cas let out a sigh of relief, sounding a thousand-years-old. “That’s good. That’s excellent news. You should get back just before Balthazar, Anna, and Gadreel do.”

Balthazar. Dean had nearly forgotten that the angel was desperate to talk to Cas about something.

“Do you know what he wants to talk to you about?” Dean asked, trying to keep his voice even. Whenever Cas’s ex-brother-in-arms came up in conversation, something ugly wrapped around Dean’s chest. He knew what it was, of course, but he didn’t have the guts to give it a name; not even in his own head.

“No,” Cas replied, “Not yet. He insists this must be said in person. I’ve asked Anna and Gadreel, but Balthazar has not even told _them_ what it is. Things are…tense, between them.”

“Hmm,” Dean hummed, thoughts running wild. What could Balthazar possibly want to tell Cas? In person? Alone?

_It better not be some declaration of love,_ Dean thought bitterly, before coming back to himself. _And what if it is?_ He thought, _who cares? Not me._

That was a lie. He _knew_ it was a lie. He knew exactly why he didn’t want Balthazar’s big announcement to be the romantic kind, but he really didn’t want to admit it.

He _had_ thought that guys were…well, his thing, before. He’d seen and known a few men he might’ve tried with, but he never had. Why, you may ask? John Winchester’s A+ parenting, that’s why.

He was sixteen when he’d almost brought it up with John. He’d hinted at it in passing, once; just a tiny remark. John hadn’t spoken to him for two weeks. It took Dean selectively letting John catch him with a busty, red-haired bartender from their latest haunt to get him to talk again.

After that, he’d only ever thought about it in private. And when Cas had come along, brimming with nuclear amounts of power and wisdom, radiating pure, holy energy? With his mussed, raven-colored hair, blue eyes like bolts of lightning to the heart, and a body most men would _kill_ to have? Dean had found parts of him resurfacing that he was _not_ ready to face.

“Dean?” Cas asked from the other side of the phone. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he answered, “Yeah, man. We’ll be there in a few hours. Take care of yourself.”

“You too,” he answered, voice soft. “See you soon.”

Dean hung up, and flicked on the radio. It wasn’t loud enough to wake the others, but just loud enough to be distracting. He didn’t need to think at the moment.

…

In the end, they decided to stay at Rufus’s cabin. It was the safest place they knew. Though they did send supplies up to the little holiday place their dad had, just in case things went south like last time.

Rufus did not like this plan. Things between him and Meg were still icy, and a decent mess had accumulated over everything he owned; except in the garden.

From the outside, you’d have thought the old cabin was a getaway for the upper-middle class. The trees were pruned and cared for, the bushes were trimmed back and neatened, and the vegetable garden had never looked better.

Fatima had slowly taken up the entire property. They could see her touch in the cute potted plants now sitting in the kitchen, and the relative truce that rested between Rufus and Meg whenever she was around.

Cas was sitting at the kitchen table, reviewing pieces of lore from the now-shared library, when they entered. He wore Dean’s left-behind clothes, which gave the elder Winchester some pause.

Upon seeing the former angel in a too-big ‘Black Sabbath’ T-shirt, black sweatpants, and a pair of socks, Dean had to do a double-take. Something about the sight made his heart beat faster and his mouth run dry with fear.

He tried to shake the feeling, but to no avail. His mind kept screaming, _‘look around! Look for trouble! There. Is. Something. Wrong!’_ He had no idea what could possibly have evoked such a reaction from himself, but he didn’t like it.

Cas looked up, finally noticing his entrance. He smiled in a way that made Dean’s heart try to crawl out of his throat and run for the door.

“Dean,” he greeted, eyes crinkling in the corners as he smiled. “Sam. I’m glad to see you are safe.”

Dean opened his mouth to say the same, but something choked him out. Sam gave him a strange look, before returning the sentiment for them both. Bobby stomped passed them, grumbling to himself as usual.

“What am I, the ugly girl at the prom?”

“Yes.” Rufus answered, “You are.”

Dean quickly made a beeline for the liquor cabinet, hands shaking ever so slightly. _What was wrong with him?_ He didn’t see both Cas and Sam give him strange glances as he bolted.

Once settled on the couch, whiskey in hand, he forced himself to relax. Although he normally hated any kind of introspection, he made himself think carefully on why his pulse was trying to kill him.

Bobby came and joined him, as did Sam and Meg. Dean wasn’t fond of the slight banter that the two of them had picked up; it reminded him too much of Ruby. But alas, he couldn’t judge. He’d been outvoted on the Meg front. She hated Crowley just like they did, and she was too useful an ally to pass up.

And he supposed, she wasn’t _that_ much like Ruby. Ruby had been a puzzle; a mystery. That was one of the things that Sam had found interesting about her. As much as he tried to play law-abiding citizen back in the day, Sam had always been drawn to problems no-one else could solve. It was what made him such a damn good hunter.

But Meg was all but see-through. They knew that she didn’t like them, and she knew they didn’t trust her. But there was safety in numbers, and the middle of an apocalypse was not the time to be picky with your friends. 

Cas wondered in after them, steaming mug of coffee in one hand and a book called _‘A Detailed Analysis of the Pre-Mesopotamian World: By Ishmael Sabar.’_ In the other. Instead of taking a seat, he leaned casually against the wall, relaxed and at peace. It shouldn’t have made Dean choke on his own lungs, but he did anyway.

Across the room, from the slim couch he shared with Meg, Sam gave him a look. Dean ignored him.

From the back door, Fatima wondered in. She was doing far better, Dean thought. She’d gained some weight, whereas previously she’d looked like a mummy. Her cheeks were pinker, and her skin had tanned with the sun. She wore a yellow sundress that went to her knees, a pair of yellow wellingtons and gardening gloves, and a matching hijab; all looked new.

“Hi,” She greeted, and Dean smiled back. At least that was one thing going right these days.

Rufus trod in last, dragging Kevin Tran behind him. He sat the kid down in the armchair, muttering about ‘even more mouths to feed’ as he did so. Kevin still had the tablet tucked to his chest, and his shoulders were pulled almost to his ears. If the kid were any tenser, he’d be carved from stone.

Meg whistled. “So, this is the little superhero? He doesn’t look like much.”

“Neither do you,” Cas chastised from his spot by the door. “Looks mean little. Anyone with eyes can see that this boy is the Prophet.”

That left Dean a little confused. To him, Kevin looked like any gawky, under-aged over-achiever. Sam chucked him a pair of glasses, and sent him a small smile. Thank whichever god out there who actually cared for clever little brothers.

When Dean put them on, the scene around him changed dramatically. Cas’s wings spanned the room, curled around the occupants, but relaxed. His halo gleamed with a healthy glow, bathing everything in light; a solid contrast to the pitch color of his wings. It even made Meg, who’s spiky, burnt skin and black eyes turned stomachs everywhere, look a little less ugly.

Fatima had the slightest glow to her skin; which Cas had explained was leftover grace. When a person was possessed by an angel, sometimes pieces of that angel got left behind; the angelic version of a strand of hair or a toenail clipping.

Kevin glowed too. His skin beamed out a bronze light, and tattoo-like golden script encircled his skin. His eyes carried the same glow, only magnified, and a pseudo-halo of his own rested over him. The tablet in his hands thrummed with energy like a pleased, purring cat. Another, almost third-eye-like symbol rested right between his eyes.   

There was absolutely no doubt about who this was. It couldn’t have been clearer even if God himself had descended from the clouds and anointed him personally.

“So, now what?” Rufus asked. “What do we do with the tyke?”

“Tradition states that we send him out in to the desert with an escort of angels, so that he may spend years studying the Word of God in solitude. Once he has completed this, he’ll be sent into the world to preach its secrets to the masses.” Cas answered.

“And in a more leviathan-centric way?” Dean asked, exasperated.

“We could always lock him in a room for a few weeks, and see what happens.” Meg suggested, black eyes gleaming.

“Does anyone want to hear what the Prophet thinks of this?” Kevin asked, raising his hand as if he were in class. As if pulled by a magnet, every eye turned back to him. His bronze glow faded in and out hypnotically, making him nearly impossible to ignore.

“No.” Dean, Meg, and Rufus replied.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Guys, I think we’re being _a bit_ dramatic. Cas, does Kevin _need_ solitude to decipher the Word?”

“Yes,” Cas answered, wings ruffling with thoughtfulness. The sun outside caught their tips, making them seem partially see-through. “But that is subjective. _Everyone_ studies better in quiet.”

“Then we can set him up in the basement,” Sam decided. “It’s the most protected part of the house, and the quietest. If we clean it up, we can keep him safe there, and he can study the chicken-scratch on the God-Rock at the same time.”

That was the best solution he had, and no-one else seemed too upset with it – save for Rufus, of course. Still, even he couldn’t find a better alternative.

“Um,” Kevin raised his hand, eyes wide.

“Go ahead,” Sam said, before anyone could mock him.

“So, the plan is to lock me in your basement?” He asked nervously.

“Pretty much, yeah.” Dean answered, and Meg nodded along seriously. Sam bit back a reprimand; he wasn’t in the mood to start a fight.

“Listen,” Sam said, leaning forward and using his ‘professional FBI agent voice’. “If you want to leave, we’d get that, we would. But these leviathans won’t just kill you if they find you. They will _eat_ you, your mother, and everyone you’ve even said hello to.”

Kevin’s face went pale, and his bottom lip started quivering. He tightened his grip on the rock. The glow around him seemed to dim, as if trying to conceal itself.

“We want to get rid of them,” Sam continued, “But we can’t do that alone. The instructions to banishing the leviathans is on that stone, and you are the only person in the world who can read it. Do you understand?”

He nodded, looking nauseous. “Okay. I’ll get started as soon as I have a place to work. But my mom- is she in danger?”

Sam shared a glance with Dean and Bobby, trying to find a nice way to phrase it.

“Yes,” Castiel jumped in to their conversation, eyes sharp. “Your mother is in danger. But the leviathans will not harm her. They’ll keep an eye on her in the hopes that you’ll try to return to her. But Dick Roman is too smart to make an enemy of you unnecessarily.”

Kevin mulled that over, and seemed to come to a silent conclusion. “Okay. Where do I work?”

…

They spent the morning cleaning out the basement and making it livable. They set up their camping equipment; the cot, the table, and the chair. There were two other tables not in use, so they used them to make a small semi-circle around where Kevin would work.

One table held books of every sort; ancient dictionaries, theological analysis, and a spare laptop; all for research. The middle table had a lamp, no less than ten examination pads, enough stationary to stock a high school classroom, a towel to set the Word on, and a six-pack of Red Bull. The third table was more recreational. A kettle, eight cans of pre-ground coffee, three large containers of pills (“Green for headaches. Orange for nosebleeds. Blue for sleep. Don’t O.D.” -Dean), and a small stove for warm soups.

On the other side of the room, the cot had been set up with blankets, pillows, an alarm, and a calendar. For reasons unknown, Rufus had a ping-pong table down there too; they set it up so that Kevin could play alone. This was for whenever he needed to get his blood pumping again.

Even when they were done, the place still smelt like mothballs, and the naked globe drilled into the ceiling still flickered, but it wasn’t bad. They gave Kevin the key, promised him three meals a day plus a weekly room-clean, and left him to it.

Gadreel called in, saying they’d been delayed. They’d forgotten to change license plates after crossing state lines, and Anna had been sideswiped by a levi. Balthazar had been in a pretty bad place too, and the showdown had only made it worse.

They would all heal, but they had to hunker down till the leviathans left the area. It could take a few days; or, a few weeks.

Castiel was understanding, but also frustrated. He’d been working non-stop, but even so, he thought he could manage to teleport over. Bobby talked him down; Cas would just be putting himself in the line of fire. He wouldn’t be helping anyone by going rogue.   

Dean felt for the guy; he did. If Sam had pulled something like that with him, he’d be pulling his hair out strand-by-strand with stress by now.

It didn’t help that Dean had finally figured out why he’d been so off earlier.

That night, he stood under the baking hot shower, letting the running water ease his muscles and lull him into a trance. His mind flashed to Cas sitting calmly at the table, early morning light catching his dark hair, light stubble defining his jawline.

He’d looked so vulnerable. Without the halo, and the four layers of clothing, Cas had looked bare and unprotected. Though it wasn’t just the clothes; the angel had been shirtless when Raphael had made a tribute out of him. It was the fact that Cas had been so… _peaceful_. His guard was down. Anything could’ve happened, and Cas wouldn’t have been expecting it.

And Dean was slowly starting to come to terms with the fact that Cas’s loss would break something in him he’d never be able to fix.

…

One week passed by far too slowly. They were all tense and jumpy, constantly waiting for something to go wrong. Sam honestly felt bad about the pressure they were putting on Kevin as a result; over-achiever or not, the kid was working himself to the bone as is. He didn’t need the rest of them breathing down his neck.

Gadreel called in daily, letting them know about the situation down there. Balthazar refused to speak to Cas over the phone, knowing what he’d ask. Cas took it gracefully, but his movements after the check-ins were jagged and harsh, and it took an hour for his frustration to ease.

Gabriel checked in often, reporting back on how hopeless his foraging was. He greeted Kevin in his true form for shits and giggles, freaking the kid out. At the very least, Kevin had relaxed a bit thereafter, knowing he had an archangel honor-bound to protect him from imminent death. He only wished the same applied for his family.

Sam, Dean, and Bobby called in the hunters they knew of, making sure they were situated somewhere in South Dakota for when they attacked. Garth Fitzgerald the Fourth camped out in Black Hills National Forest, and talked to them through a payphone by Mount Rushmore.

Their trusty psychic friend, Missouri Mosely, made the drive out all the way from Kansas. She, like many others, stayed in Sioux City. She called in only once to blow Dean’s ear off for ‘keeping in touch _like a jackass’_. Meg liked her.

Tamara, a hunter they’d fought with during the first Apocalypse, and who had subsequently lost her husband Isaac, had joined in the same time as Lee Chambers drove up. The two bunked together, along with Lee’s fourteen-year-old daughter, Krissy. Sam and Dean weren’t keen on her joining the fight, but they’d both hunted their first monster at age ten. They had no leg to stand on.

Two Irish hunters, Lillian O’Grady and Eileen Leahy, flew over all the way from Galway to help. All between them, they had about seven hands coming in, discounting Anna, Gadreel, and Balthazar, who made ten. Jody, number eleven, was just waiting for the word. Most of her department remembered their minor zombie apocalypse, and would help out if asked.

Everyone else was either dead or too busy fighting leviathans their side to drive and/or fly over.

While they waited on them for a signal, some other, far more surprising allies climbed out of the woodwork. A small coven of witches from the local college got in touch. Apparently, they had a former arrangement with Bobby that they wanted to strike up again.

Even more surprisingly, Kate, a werewolf Sam and Dean had once spared, showed up to help as well. She’d started a new life after they let her go; one as a waitress. A leviathan had tried to make a meal out of her, and had been woefully unprepared. Now she wanted to help them too.

She was understandably cautious as she was seated at the kitchen table. She was asked a lot of questions; where she’d been, what she’d been up to, etc. Eventually, they gave her a pass. They had Meg around, after all. What was one more beasty?

She bumped into Fatima not long after, and the two struck up the most surprising friendship. Kate had given her a smile, and Fatima had smiled back, forgetting the teeth for a moment. At Kate’s shocked face, she seemed to shrink a little, apologizing unnecessarily.

“It’s okay,” Kate assured her. She opened her mouth wide, and let her proper teeth show. They were seven centimeters longer than they should’ve been, and razor sharp. They had a natural yellow tint and a vicious curve.

Fatima’s jaw dropped. “That’s amazing!”

That was clearly the first time Kate had ever received that response from a person. She let her chompers shrink back to normal, giving her new friend another small smile.

They talked for hours about, funnily enough, plants. Kate had had plans to become an environmental lawyer before she was turned, and Fatima’s interest in botany hadn’t been dimmed by her possession. They began theorizing on the actual effects of monkshood and wolfsbane on werewolves, and no-one managed to pry them away from each-other for hours to come.

Amy Pond, a kitsune that had saved Sam’s life when they were little, showed up with her son Isaac. Dean’s first instinct was to gank, but she had only come to offer her help. Kitsune could sniff out injury and death like a bloodhound, and were the best creatures available for identifying other monsters in the area. Sam vouched for her, and since Kate and Meg had since joined them, Dean once more relented.

All that was left was to wait on Kevin. 


	8. Bad Blood

“It’s a weapon,” Kevin explained, scratching his head with the butt of a chewed-on pencil. “A leviathan-killer.”

Sam, Dean, Cas, Rufus, and Bobby stood or sat around Kevin’s workspace, marveling at the mess he’d made. Pieces of paper covered in barely-legible, frantic scribbles, were stuck to the walls; especially behind where Kevin sat. It had only been a week, but already most of the coffee and pills were gone, as were the exam pads.

Take-out food wrappers were scattered on every available surface, and the place smelt like sweat and grease. The only place not mussed was the cot; which had obviously been used as little as possible. It was a stunning plethora of workaholism.

“The tablet?” Dean specified, “It’s got a levi-nuke written on it?”

“Basically, yeah,” he answered, rummaging for a scrap of paper among the hoard. “I can’t make out all of the ingredients yet, but I can tell you the first part, and more about it. See, the leviathans work kinda like a hive mind, or a- a computer network.”

He turned back to them, left eye twitching worryingly, but unmistakably proud. “If you kill the head leviathan, using a special weapon, you damn all the rest to Purgatory as well; and they’ll never be able to return.”

Sam could’ve sobbed at the news. As it was, Rufus had allowed a smile to slip onto his face. Bobby looked pleased as well, and Cas sighed in relief.

“C’mere you stinky, smelly bastard!” Dean called, gathering Kevin up in a tight bearhug. Kevin gave a slightly deranged laugh at dean’s behavior, but quickly settled back to business.   

“The ingredients for the weapon are really hard to come by, but I can tell you the first thing you need to get, and it shouldn’t be too difficult. You’ll have to get…” He victoriously yanked a piece of paper free from the others, and proudly showed it to the room. It read:

**_~~Cow Bone?~~ _ ** **_Bony calf? ~~Whore?~~ Church >   
hallowed ground?_ **

**_ BONE OF A HOLY PERSON!!! _ **

Sam read the page twice to be sure. Then he looked at Kevin.

“Kevin,” he asked seriously, “How many of those pills have you taken?”

Kevin rolled his eyes over-dramatically, clearly not impressed with Sam’s concern. “Not enough to get _high,_ I can assure you. Now, _go! Shoo!”_

He handed Sam the paper. “You’ve got a grave to desecrate.”

Kevin sat down heavily on his chair, and got back to work. Sam shared a glance with the other hunters in the room, who all seemed pleased with the latest developments. Sam shrugged and stood. “Anyone know where we can find a holy person’s grave?”

…

The closest holy person they found who had a bone to spare belonged to Sister Mary Constant. Cas had pointed them in her direction, and gathering the bone hadn’t been too much trouble. The most exciting thing that happened was Dean all but diving on top of the impala when a stray dog walked past. He still hadn’t quite faced his fear of hounds yet.

They called Kevin, and he told them to turn the biggest bone they could find into a usable weapon. They were, fortunately, good at improvising this kind of thing.

They picked a femur – a thigh bone – and cleaned and polished it as best they could. Dean carved the end that attached to the knee into a dangerously sharp point. Sam treated the bone, so that it was as strong as possible, and wrapped a strap of leather into a hand-grip. It was pitch black and studded, so that it was difficult to lose your grip on.

He also went ahead and left a long strip loose, then tied it into a wrist-wrap of sorts. Once it was on, it was difficult for the bone to be wrenched out of their hands.

Kevin told them that, although it wouldn’t do much, they could carve the bone safely if they wanted to. Banishment seals, words, maybe ‘fuck off’ written on the grip.

Dean was the best carver, so he took to engraving holy Enochian phrases into the bone, which Cas had helped with. They won’t kill, but they’ll sting. And into the leather grip, Sam used white paint to paint an anti-possession sigil, ringed in holy fire; the symbol that had since become something of a family crest.

The end result was actually beautiful. The bone was incredibly well-preserved, and the white grip made the bone almost shine. Bobby and Rufus built a special container for it; a long, stainless steel case with a simple stand inside. It would keep the weapon safe.

They decided to send a few of their allies over to an abandoned military base in Tennessee. After some debate, Gabriel volunteered Kali, who still owed him, for the job. She was no Archangel, but a pagan god would certainly give the leviathans a run for their money. They had half a mind to leave it with Kevin, but if something happened to them, they didn’t want all their valuable items in one place.

It was while discussing this that Sam came up with a brilliant idea. He called Bobby and Rufus, and asked them to make three identical cases to the one they’d just made. The brothers picked apart the tombs of preachers, nuns, and other religious leaders, and nabbed themselves three identical bones. They weren’t given the same kind of care as the one intended for Dick, but they were made to look close enough.

The other three that weren’t their chosen weapon were hidden with people Bobby trusted; one stayed right there with Rufus, one went down to the Sioux Falls police station with Jody Mills, and one went to John’s cabin in Vancouver with Garth Fitzgerald. The hunters, monsters, and other assorted allies spread out over the US, setting up shop in places with the most people; New York, Seattle, DC, Chicago, and New Orleans. They were preparing for the worst; evacuation plans, large-scale counter-measures, and borax. So much borax. Currently, there was something of a national shortage with all the cleaning fluids they’d bought.

Balthazar, Anna, and Gadreel were still stuck, but they thought the leviathans may have eased their grip on the place. They expected to be able to move in the next three days.

It took Kevin the next two to decrypt the rest of the tablet.

“You’re gonna need blood,” he explained over the phone. “Very specific blood. I already told Bobby, and he has everything ready. You guys just gotta get it.”

“What kind of blood?” Dean asked, fighting back a yawn. Sam and he stood a ways away from the abandoned barn they’d been sleeping in. The sun was only just rising above the horizon; not that you could tell through the thick, heavy clouds that darkened the world around them. A heavy mist clung to the air, but it hadn’t snowed yet.

Rufus and Gabriel had stayed with Kevin, but Dean had gotten wind of a case in the neighboring county. They were about to wrap up a salt and burn when the phone rang.

“Well,” Kevin explained, “It’s actually _kinds_. You’re going to need the Four Bloods of The Fallen. What that means is blood from the most powerful fallen creatures in existence. The most powerful fallen angel on Earth, the most powerful fallen human on Earth, the most powerful fallen fae on Earth, and the most powerful fallen monster on Earth – aside from the leviathans, who have their own category.”

Dean groaned and Sam sighed.

“How’re we going to get that?” Dean asked.

“Actually, we already have one.” Kevin explained. “Gabriel is the most powerful fallen angel alive, and not in the cage right now. He already donated some, and Cas gave us the extra jars of blood for our decoys. You don’t have to worry about that.”

Sam and Dean shared a surprised look. “Okay then,” Dean said, “Next?”

“You need the blood of fallen humanity,” Kevin answered, “In short, you’ll need demon’s blood.”

At the words ‘demon’s blood’ Sam went stiff. His mouth watered pre-emptively at the thought of it, and he bit back the urge to go looking for some.

“More than that,” Kevin continued, “You’ll need the _most powerful_ demon’s blood. Rufus tells me that’s some guy named Crowley?”

“Ugh,” Dean complained. “That dick? Okay, we’ll manage. What are the others?”

“Uh…” the sound of rustling paper drifted through the phone. “You’ll need blood from the ruler of the Unseelie court, or the wicked fae. You’ll also have to get blood from the king of monsters; those that aren’t leviathan. For those you’ll find things like werewolves, kitsune, and skin-walkers all sort-of fall under the same umbrella; but a fallen _monster_ is a _dead_ human-turned-monster. Vampires, rugaru, and zombies fall under _that_ group. You’ll just need the most powerful.”

Sam quickly pulled out his notepad, and made a list:

_Four bloods:_

_Fallen Archangel:_ ~~Gabriel~~                            
Fallen Human:                        Crowley  
Fallen Monster:                              ?  
Fallen fae:                                     ?

“Alright, Kevin,” Sam said, taking the phone from Dean. “Anything else?”

“That seems to be about it,” he answered. “That’s the spell for banishment. The spell for summoning is here too, as is a bunch of information on the leviathan. You know how most monsters had something-or-other written into their genes as a weakness, so they wouldn’t chomp the whole petri-dish? The leviathans had that as well; a rock mineral referred to as disodium tetraborate, a member of the boric acid family, found in high deposits in Turkey, Tibet, Chile, and Boron, California. It’s the basis for most cleaning agents today, in the form of borax. And get this,” Sam heard more paper rustling from Kevin’s end. “Dick’s biggest stakes and buildings line up with these places almost perfectly.”

“So, God put that there?” Sam asked, “The borax. He planned that?”

“Not exactly,” Kevin explained. “More like he left things like that there, in nature, for humans to find and use. Survival of the fittest, you know? Only those smart and resourceful enough to match up to the monsters lived, and it was _their_ children who became the first hunters. God didn’t so much plan for an armed attack against monsters, as he gave Man the opportunity to learn to protect _themselves._ He didn’t design nature like this to protect us. He did it so that hunters would learn and appear, and protect humanity ourselves.”

Sam whistled low. “Wow,” he said, “So, there was a plan.”

“More an inkling of an opportunity to make our _own_ plan. But yeah, there was a basic idea.”

Dean had left throughout the philosophical banter, and returned with the coffee they’d been letting cool inside. He handed one to Sam, and clutched his own close.

“So,” he started, “Any idea where to find Crowley?”

“Not yet, no. But it should be easy enough to get the other demon blood. The monster blood, we’ll also handle. The fae could be tricky; you need to find an expert on fairies and spirits, I think. But guys; the real McCoy? That we’re gonna use on the _actual_ weapon? That’s up to you.”

“That’ll work. And Kev?” Sam asked, sharing a nod with dean, who slipped into the driver’s seat with practiced ease.

“Yeah?” Kevin answered.

“You did really good here. Princeton would be lucky to have you.”

Kevin was silent on the other end of the phone for a while. His voice sounded just a little shaky when he replied. “Thanks, man. That means a lot.”

Sam hung up the phone with a smile, and climbed into the car.

…

Getting Crowley’s blood took a little less than a day.

They used the barn as a base, and collected everything they needed for a demon-summoning. They recited the spell, drew some human blood to pour into the bowl, and waited.

Within moments, he appeared, looking inconvenienced and exhausted.

“ _Honestly,_ what is it with you Winchesters?” He complained loudly, leaning against a post. “I’m aware of what a joy I am to be around, but you’ve got to stop calling me every time you’ve got a hard-on.”

“Are you done?” Sam asked, face blank. Dean was equally unamused.

Crowley rolled his eyes; but the tired stoop of his shoulders and his sickly complexion made it hard to take him seriously. _Bobby was right,_ Sam thought. Hell was taking its toll on the demon.

“Listen,” Dean said, “We need something from you for a leviathan banishment spell. Are you in or out?”

Crowley chuckled. “I let the leviathans loose. What makes you think I want to chain them back up?”

“Probably the fact that they don’t like competition.” Sam replied confidently. Kevin had sent ahead four jars painted with delicate spell-work, and smelling faintly of bleach. One was filled with Gabriel’s blood, but the other three were still empty. Sam plucked the one labeled ‘Demon’ out of their protective suitcase.

Dean said, “You know they’re going to wipe out demons as soon as they have humans down. They’re not really the sharing type.”

Crowley pretended to consider this, pursing his lips and shoving his hands into his pockets. “And what do I get for helping you?”

Dean slipped an angel blade from his jacket sleeve in a very Cas-like move. He expertly flicked it into his hand, and smiled. “You get to live.”

It took Crowley even less time to come to a decision than expected. “Fine. I’ll help. But not because you intimidate me,” he muttered while stepping towards the edge of the devil’s trap. “Only because Dick and his might actually succeed where Lucifer failed.”

He allowed Sam to use Ruby’s demon knife to draw blood from his arm, docile as a lamb. Dean waited for him to try something, but he never did. Sam closed up the jar when he was finished, ensuring it wouldn’t leak. He set it back in the case gently, then shut it and locked it up.

“A pleasure, as always.” Crowley drawled, gesturing to the devil’s trap. “If you wouldn’t mind?”

Dean knelt, and used the pointed tip of the angel blade to scrape out the edge of the circle. Crowley shot him a wink. “Give Robert a kiss for me, will you?”

In a whiff of sulfur and black smoke, the King of Hell was gone.

“Two down,” Sam declared. “Two to go.”

Dean risked a smile. Things seemed to actually be going their way for once. Even though the next two jars of blood would be the hardest.

They packed up their stuff, got in their stolen car, and drove.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um... Hi.
> 
> I know I've got some explaining to do. I abandoned this fic for a long time, and for a myriad of reasons.I'm not proud of it, but I needed the break. A lot went down; my parents divorced, I got pushed into a new school, my grandmas got cancer, and my anxiety disorder kinda spiked again.
> 
> Also, Supernatural went down the drain a bit? Like, they killed Charlie, then they killed Eileen, and I pretty much snapped. I didn't start an anti-blog and sending hatemail, but I needed to cut SPN out of my life for a while. As fun as fanworks are, it shouldn't be the responsibility of the fans to make a show/book/movie diverse and interesting. That's not how it should be.
> 
> Anyways, expect regular updates again, cause this thing has been sitting on my desktop staring at me accusingly for about a year, and I can't take it anymore. I'm gonna finish this thing if it kills me.


End file.
